


Guardian Apprentice

by Troper_Nyaru



Category: Assasin's Creed - Fandom, Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Soldier, Corporal Punishment, F/M, Gen, Liberal use of OCs, Maria Thorpe is a badass, Medical Experimentation, Mentions of Slavery, Misplaced Guilt, OCs central to plot, Survivor Guilt, Xemnas is a lying liar who lies, invented mythology, mental manipulation, mentions of drug use, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:09:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 190
Words: 249,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11387511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Troper_Nyaru/pseuds/Troper_Nyaru
Summary: It seemed to begin with Alnesr; he was the first of those brought into the Brotherhood, working and training under the watchful eye of Altaïr himself. In truth, it began with Seth, and a mysterious man who gave no true name of his own; but cultivated the threads of Fate in a hidden place, for a hidden purpose.This is a supplemental story to the series that begins with "Two of Hearts".





	1. The life of an Innocent

**_ Disclaimer:  _ ** _Nothing in this story, save for the concept of the Treasure Guardians/Children of Eden and the mythology and information surrounding them belong to me. This has some ties to my future story “Chain of Advent”, as well as the “Hearts” ‘verse in general,  but it can still be read as a stand-alone._

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** Guardian Apprentice **

 

 

 

“Alnesr, follow closely, and act when I give the order,” he ordered, turning to catch the bright, pale yellow eyes of his apprentice.

           

“Yes, Master Altaïr.”   

 

Nodding subtly to the young Apprentice Assassin, Altaïr moved, swift and silent, through the deserted halls of the temple. Almost _too_ deserted, really; there were bound to be Templars guarding the treasure that Master Mualim had sent the four of them out to claim. If there even _was_ treasure at all; all that the Master had said was that the Templars had found something in this place.

           

Sounds up ahead alerted him to the presence of another; likely a Templar guard. Signaling for Alnesr to wait, he moved forward.

 

“Wait! There must be another way, this one need not die,” Malik called; Altaïr ignored him.

 

Even if the old man was _not_ a Templar, he could not be allowed to alert the Templars to their presence. This mission demanded secrecy, and he would not see it compromised for Malik’s weakness. Plunging his hidden blade into the man’s neck, Altaïr killed him with the same swiftness and silence as the eagles that he had often been compared to.

 

“An excellent kill,” Kadar said, clear awe in his voice. “Fortune favors your blade.”

 

“Not fortune; skill,” he corrected.

 

“Yes; indeed, Master Altaïr is most skillful,” Alnesr said, moving to stand closer, and keeping alert the way he’d been taught.

 

He smiled, feeling a sense of pride; almost like his own father must have felt, he thought. “Watch awhile longer and you might learn something more, Kadar.”

 

“Indeed,” Malik said, with clear distain. “He’ll teach you how to disregard everything the Master has taught us.” Malik stepped slightly into Kadar’s line of sight, glaring at him as if he had overstepped some invisible boundary. “Teach what you will to your own Apprentice, Altaïr; anyone can see that he’s already too much like you. But do _not_ try to corrupt mine.”

 

“Oh?” he asked, as Alnesr moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, showing the solidarity that any good Apprentice should. “And, how would _you_ have handled this?”

 

“I would not have drawn attention to us,” Malik said plainly. “I would not have taken the life of an innocent. What _I_ would have done, is follow the Creed.”

 

Perhaps Malik did not _remember_ the Creed. “Nothing is true; everything is permitted. Understand these words; it matters not how we complete our task, only that it is done.”

 

“But this is not our way!” Malik protested.

 

“My way is better,” he said, decisively ending the conversation.

 

“I will scout ahead. Try not to dishonor us further,” Malik said, with significantly more distain than he had previously shown.

 

Sneering at his back, Altaïr wiped the expression from his face as Kadar turned to regard him with curiosity. He might not have been fond of Malik’s constant questioning, but Kadar was far more tolerable. He was almost like Alnesr, though somewhat less shy; likely another artifact of his own Apprentice’s odd appearance.

 

One who had nearly been killed for such a thing as that was not likely to want to draw attention to himself, after all.

 

“What is our mission?” Kadar asked, moving to stand closer to him. “My brother would say nothing to me, only that I should be honored to have been invited.”

 

“Yes, Master; I, too, would like to know what our mission entails,” Alnesr said, moving slightly to catch his eye, then ducking his head shyly once he had done so.

 

“The Master believes the Templars have found something beneath the Temple Mount,” he informed them both.

 

Alnesr merely looked thoughtful when he had spoken of Master Mualim’s suspicions, but Kadar spoke up with no hesitation: “Treasure!”

 

“I do not know. All that matters is that the Master considers it important. Else he would not have asked me to retrieve it,” he informed them both.

 

Alnesr nodded to indicate his comprehension of the matter, and the three of them moved to meet up with Malik. He hoped that his fellow Assassin had at least managed to find _something_ useful; he’d no desire for Alnesr, Kadar, and himself to shoulder the entire burden during this mission.

 

He soon spotted Malik up ahead, moving slowly and alertly through the deserted halls of the Temple Mount. He was pleased to note that there were no guards or other people inside; he was not particularly eager to hear more of Malik’s lectures on the importance of the Creed. He knew the Creed, likely better even than Malik, because he outranked the older Assassin.

 

This, he often thought, was the root of Malik’s distain for and disparagement of him.

 

Continuing to follow Malik through the Temple Mount, he could clearly hear Alnesr and Kadar keeping pace just behind them. He was pleased to know that his Apprentice was taking proper initiative. Moving through the Temple Mount, he continued searching for guards and others that Malik might have missed. Or simply left alive because he did not consider them a threat.

 

Climbing the two ladders that he found in his path, Altaïr then found himself facing a Templar guard standing at the entrance to another part of the Temple Mount. Likely as not, Malik had left this one alive out of some misguided desire not to stain his hands, or other such nonsense. Dealing with the Templar the same way that he had dealt with so many of the man’s brethren – and the same way he _would_ deal with any others he encountered in the future – he made his way into the next room.

 

The next room opened up into a much larger space than any of the previous rooms, and Altaïr found himself looking down upon the main group of Templars at last.

 

“There, that must be the Ark,” Malik said.

 

“The Ark? Of the Covenant?” Kadar echoed, as if he actually believed in such nonsense; clearly, Malik should have endeavored to teach him better.

 

“Don’t be absurd. There’s no such thing; it’s just a story,” he said.

 

“Then, what is it?” Kadar asked, looking from him to Malik.

 

“Quiet!” Malik said quickly. “Someone’s coming.”

 

Watching and waiting, as any good Assassin was trained to do, he both saw and heard the man giving orders to this group of Templars. The greatest enemy of the Assassin Brotherhood: the Templar Grand Master, Robert de Sable.

 

“Robert de Sable!” he spat. “His life is mine! Alnesr-!”

 

“No,” Malik said, gripping his arm; holding him back. “We were asked to retrieve the treasure, and deal with Robert only if necessary.”

 

“He stands between us and it, I’d say it’s necessary,” he said, pulling his arm free from Malik’s grasp.

 

“Discretion, Altaïr!” Malik snarled.

 

“You mean cowardice,” he snapped back, having had more than his fill of Malik’s insistent disrespect; even Alnesr was a better Assassin, _he_ at least knew how to show the proper respect to his superiors. “That man is our greatest enemy, and here we have the chance to be rid of him!”

 

“You have already broken two tenets of our Creed,” Malik growled. “Now, you would break the third: do not compromise the Brotherhood.”

 

“I am your superior, in both title and ability,” he reminded the older man. “You should know better than to question me.” Dismissing Malik from his mind, he turned to his loyal Apprentice. “Alnesr, follow closely, and observe well. You may have the chance to claim your first Templar head today, if you act swiftly.”

 

“Yes, Master Altaïr,” his Apprentice acknowledged.

 


	2. Return to Masyaf

Moving as swiftly as he ever did, he heard Alnesr just behind him and smiled slightly. He _would_ claim the life of Robert de Sable this day, and Alnesr would claim the first of many lives that he would take as he rose through the ranks of the Assassins under Altaïr’s tutelage. They would both return to Masyaf triumphant this day.

 

Their descent to the ground floor of the Temple went as smoothly as he could have hoped, and for a moment Altaïr thought back on his Apprentice’s younger days. Alnesr had not been a quick study, like Altaïr himself had been, but the boy had more than made up for such deficiencies with the determination to please his Master that every good Apprentice had. This situation would be no different: Alnesr would will his way through.

 

Bringing his mind back to the present, he stood at last on the floor of the Temple and moved to confront the Templars gathered in the largest room, Alnesr a silent presence at his side.

 

“Hold, Templars!” he snarled, calling their attention to him; let them feel fear as he and Alnesr came among them and killed them all. “You are not the only ones with business here!”

 

“Ah, well _this_ explains my missing man,” Robert de Sable sneered, in his strangely accented voice; French, Altaïr recalled from his lessons. “And what is it _you_ want?”

 

“Blood,” he answered simply, not giving them a chance to register what he had said before he leaped the length of the room, hidden blade out and ready to be plunged into Robert de Sable’s black, twisted heart.

 

Malik shouted and tried to hold him back, grabbing at his arm in a way that was likely intended to throw off his momentum; that had to be the reason that his hidden blade had not sunk into Robert de Sable’s flesh. And, likely the _only_ reason that Robert de Sable had been able to grab his wrists and restrain him so quickly. Malik… he would have to be reprimanded for this; no matter one’s own preference, one of the Brotherhood was not to interfere with a target claimed by another.

 

It seemed Malik would need reminding of that when they all returned to Masyaf.

 

“You know not the things in which you meddle, Assassin,” Robert de Sable snarled, his voice low and steady. “I spare you only that you may return to your master and deliver a message: the Holy Land is lost to him and his. He should flee now, while he has the chance. Stay, and all of you will die.”

 

Robert threw him from the room then, sending him crashing through a wall of old, crumbling stone that then collapsed, walling him off from Alnesr, Kadar, and even Malik. Narrowing his eyes at the barrier now sealing him into the empty room he had landed in, Altaïr knew that it would be entirely futile for him to attempt to break through the remains of the wall and the stone that it had been holding up.

 

Turning on his heel, he made his way out of the room; climbing ladders when he could and climbing the walls themselves when he could not. After what felt like more time than the four of them had even taken getting in, Altaïr found himself nearing the exit. He also found that the Templars had, all unknowing, provided the means for him to leave with more swiftness than that which he had when he had arrived.

 

Untying the reins from the post that the Templar had used to restrain his horse, Altaïr kicked the beast into motion and, reining it in, he rode for Masyaf.

 

For a moment, he was overtaken by thoughts of Alnesr; the boy was still merely an Apprentice, he had no weapons and did not possess the skill in unarmed combat that a full Assassin would have had. Still, the boy was _his_ Apprentice all the same, and would naturally possess a greater modicum of skill than any other Apprentice.

 

Alnesr would be well; he knew it.

 

He rode the beast harder than he would have any horse that had come from Masyaf, resting only when his own body demanded that he do so; he had nothing but the most practical of concern for the beast, and would not be dismayed if it fell down dead so long as it carried him to his destination. Quenching his thirst with the water-skin that had been strapped to the beast’s saddle, Altaïr continued to ride.

 

The landscape was becoming ever more familiar to him on this, the fifth day of his journey, and so he knew that he would soon return to the place where he had lived for his entire life; he would soon be forced to report his failure to Master Mualim.

 

The mountain fortress of Masyaf loomed before him now, the city that their fortress and the Assassins within it guarded spread before him now, and he slowed the horse to a walk. Leaving the beast to the care of the stable hands within the city, Altaïr continued to make his way up the hill, through the city, and past all of the people that the Brotherhood sheltered. He’d never been one for the company of those who were not Alnesr when it wasn’t necessary, and this time was no exception.

 

Making his way out of the city and up the winding path that would take him to the fortress itself, Altaïr felt a strong urge to go and cleanse himself in one of the fountains of his home. He’d not had the means to do so while he was traveling those five days, and now he was uncomfortably aware of all the dirt and grime that he had accumulated during his journey. He had already stopped beside a well to refresh himself, quenching his thirst and washing the dust from his face, but the feel and smell of his clothes was swiftly becoming offensive to him.

 

Still, he had a duty to report his failure to Master Mualim; his own comfort did not matter in the face of that.

 

As he passed through the marketplace, the warm, inviting colors highlighted by the shafts of sunlight slanting down from the sky, Altaïr heard the sound of another Assassin hailing him. Turning, he saw that it was Rauf; any other day, any other moment than this, he would have been pleased to see the younger Assassin. Rauf, like Alnesr, looked up to him; though Rauf’s admiration was more pronounced than even Altaïr’s own Apprentice’s was.

 

Alnesr thought of him as a wise teacher, perhaps even a father when he forgot himself; Rauf had always seemed to revere him as a god.

 

If there had been a worse Assassin to have greeted him now, Altaïr could not think of who they might be.

 

“Altaïr, you’ve returned!” the younger Assassin called enthusiastically, smiling at him like a child. He paused for a moment, looking over his shoulders as if he expected someone else to come striding up behind him; Altaïr did not have to guess who that might be. “Is your Apprentice seeing to the horses, or has he gone on ahead to make his own report?”

 

“Alnesr is well enough,” he said, that being the only thing he was certain of regarding his young Apprentice.

 

“It pleases me to hear that,” Rauf said, smiling slightly wide; Altaïr hated himself for a moment, he had failed, and now facing the admiration that Rauf felt for him, he was made all the more acutely aware of that failure. “It is good to see that you are unharmed. I trust that your mission was a success?”

 

“Is the Master still in his tower?” he asked, changing the subject quickly so that he would not be forced to dwell on such things; he would be forced to confront his failure soon enough, he knew.

 

“Yes, yes,” Rauf said, nodding and not seeming dismayed by the change in subject; he _did_ try to peer more closely at Altaïr’s face, as if trying to determine the reason for it. “Buried in his books, as usual. No doubt he expects the two of you; or one, if Alnesr has indeed gone ahead.”

 

“My thanks, brother,” he said, nodding slightly.

 

“Safety and peace, Altaïr,” Rauf said, still wearing his wide smile.

 

“On you, as well,” he said, turning to continue his way up to the castle citadel.

 

He had never before found the edifice so utterly imposing before; it had been his home for as long as he lived, the place where he had both grown up and helped to raise Alnesr from babyhood into the dedicated, diligent boy that his Apprentice had become. Still, the fact remained that he was returning to this place to report a failure. He’d not expected to have to do so; he’d rode out those ten days previous with thoughts of returning in triumph, holding the Templars’ treasure in his hands and with Alnesr’s quiet voice regaling him with tales of his own triumph over the Templar forces in his path.

 

Now, however, he was returning to Masyaf empty-handed, and without Alnesr beside him, to report both of his failures to Master Mualim; the lack of his Apprentice by his side would be considered as great a failure as not retrieving the treasure that he had been sent out for. An Apprentice’s place was at his Master’s side, after all. And Apprentices such as Alnesr were not meant to fight alone.

 

He should have remembered that; the Master would no doubt berate him for that, as well as the failure he had returned to report in the first place.

 

The guards greeted him as they usually did, but Altaïr thought for a moment that he sensed additional hostility in their stances. It was likely an artifact of his own uneasiness, he realized after a moment. Moving closer, coming near to the grand archway that lead to the barbican, he saw a figure that he recognized. A figure that he was not particularly pleased to see: Abbas.

 

His fellow Assassin leaned almost insolently against the wall, standing beneath a torch that chased away what shadows there were underneath the arch. He was bareheaded, the blade of a full Assassin hanging from his left hip, and as his eyes fell on Altaïr his expression twisted into an ugly one. Altaïr could feel the sneer on his own face; there had once been a time that the two of them had been as brothers, even helping to raise Alnesr together, but that was long past.

 

Abbas was a bitter, pitiful shell of a man; nothing left in him but spite and vitriol, and so Altaïr spared him barely a thought.

 

“Ah, he returns at last.” Abbas looked over his shoulders, still wearing the mocking smile that had when he had first deigned to recognize Altaïr’s presence.

 

“Abbas,” he greeted coldly, not willing to allow the bitter man the satisfaction of seeing him react.

 

“Where are the others? Did you ride ahead, hoping to be the first one back? I know you are loath to share the glory,” Abbas looked over his shoulders again, an oily grin slowly spreading across his face. “I see your little boy is no longer with you. I wouldn’t have thought that someone like you could ever tire of being fawned over, but I suppose it loses its appeal from someone you have seen suckling at the breast of nursemaids since he was in swaddling clothes.”

 

“Are you done?” he sneered, feeling annoyed even in spite of the fact that Abbas’ taunts were as pitiful as those of a spoiled child.

 

“I bring word from the Master. He waits for you in the library,” Abbas said, still in that insolent tone. “Best hurry. No doubt you’re eager to put your tongue to his boot.”

 

“Another word and I’ll put my blade to your throat,” he snapped, having had more than his fill of Abbas and his insolence.

 

“There will be plenty of time for that later, _brother_ ,” Abbas’ tone made the last word an insult, and as Altaïr shouldered past him he used a bit more force than was strictly necessary.

 

Making his way into and through the courtyard and the training square – where he and Alnesr had spent a great deal of time between the missions that he had been assigned for the Order – Altaïr continued on his way to the entrance to Master Mualim’s tower. The guards here showed him a bit more respect than the ones below, but Altaïr knew that that was not to last. Once word of his failures had spread to them, as it inevitably would, their respect for him would vanish like water on the desert sands.

 

Not stopping to heed any of the greetings from the Assassins around him, knowing that they would not be so pleased to see him for much longer, Altaïr moved calmly through the citadel on his way to Master Mualim’s tower and the library contained within it. He was not going to delay any longer; as with all wounds, this one was best handled quickly.

 

He found the Master in his library, standing behind his desk and staring out a shaded window on the far wall behind him. It was a hard thing, what he had to do now, but Altaïr was determined to do it all the same.

 

“Altaïr,” the Master greeted him.

 

“Master,” he acknowledged.

 

“Come forward, tell me of your mission,” the Master ordered, and for a moment Altaïr felt his throat close. Still, he had known there would be a price to pay for his failure; best it be paid quickly. “I trust you have recovered the Templars’ treasure.”

 

“There was trouble, Master,” he began. “Robert de Sable was not alone.”

 

“When does our work ever gone as expected?” the Master asked, sounding rueful. “It is our ability to adapt that makes us who we are.”

 

“This time, it was not enough,” he said, feeling again the shame of his failure.

 

“What do you mean?” Master Mualim asked, his tone sharper than it had been.

 

“I have failed you,” he said, and the shame of it still burned him inside.

 

“And the treasure?”

 

“Lost to us.”

 

Master Mualim’s eyes narrowed, and he looked over Altaïr’s shoulders, even as Rauf and Abbas had done in their turn. “Where is Alnesr? Why does he not return with you?”

 

“I do not know,” he admitted at last; Alnesr was _his_ Apprentice, yes, but his own foolishness had likely cost Malik and Kadar their lives. He could only hope that it had not cost Alnesr his own.

 

“Then what of Robert?” the Master demanded.

 

“Escaped.”

 

“I send _you_ , my best man, to complete a mission more important than any that has come before, and you return to me with nothing but apologies and excuses? And worse, you betray your own Apprentice?!” the Master’s voice was as the crack of a whip across his back, and Altaïr forced himself not to wince; this was no less than he deserved.

 

“I-”

 

“ _Do not speak_! Not another word.” The anger on the Master’s face had diminished, but his tone was as sharp as ever. “This is not what I expected. We’ll have to mount another force. Both for the treasure, and for your former Apprentice.”

 

“Former, Master?” he asked, feeling a chill.

 

“Do you honestly think that Alnesr would still be willing to serve under the man that betrayed and abandoned him? Are you really so foolish? So arrogant?” The Master’s eyes narrowed, though his silence seemed thoughtful rather than angry this time. “Where are Malik and Kadar? Have you betrayed them, as well?”

 

“I did all that I could,” he said, trying to explain; not to defend himself, no defense was possible after this kind of failure, but merely to inform the Master of the circumstances that he had faced.

 

“It was not enough,” came the voice of a ghost.


	3. Eagles and Fledglings

_ ~five days earlier~ _

 

“Men, to arms! Kill the Assassins!”

 

Finding himself in the midst of Robert de Sable’s soldiers, with only his younger brother and an unarmed Apprentice at his back, Malik spared a moment to curse Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad and all his arrogance to the deepest depths of Jahannam. _Only_ a moment, of course; the Templars with Robert would not have been sent to this place under the command of a Grand Master if they were not at least as skilled as any full Assassin. Malik would need all of his skill and focus if he was to be able to protect both his own younger brother and Altaïr’s abandoned Apprentice from dying at the hands of these Templars.

 

Raising his sword, Malik met the first charge and held it back. “Kadar! Both of you! Stay behind me!”

 

Neither of them were yet ready for this kind of combat; not against Templars under the command of a Grand Master. The boy was an Apprentice; more suited to gathering information under the command of his Master. Provided his Master was not the fool that Altaïr had proven himself to be, of course.

                                                                                                   

And Kadar… his younger brother was not yet so proficient that Malik was prepared to risk him against elite Templar soldiers such as these.

 

Slashing, hacking, and stabbing, Malik waded deeper into the press of Templars on all sides. He saw Robert leaving from the back of the room, but he could do nothing about it with the man’s forces surrounding him on nearly all sides. One of the Templars managed to slip through his guard, but he found the blade blocked by that of another.

 

Looking over, he found that it was Altaïr’s young Apprentice who had stepped forward in his defense. He held a stolen Templar blade, and the way he wielded it spoke of at least some experience. It at least told him that _he_ was not such a fool as to rush into a battle he was not prepared for, even if his Master was.

 

Malik would have asked the Apprentice how Kadar was doing, if there had been any time for words; if the tides of battle were not so uncertain, but there was no time for such things. He needed all his breath to swing his sword, as well as the short blade that he had pulled from the sheathe on his back. He could not ask how Kadar was doing, could not call out to his younger brother; all he could do was strike and block, dodge and defend, and hope that he could cut down the Templars in his path before either Kadar or Altaïr’s Apprentice could lose their lives to one of the Templars surrounding them.

 

He could hear cries from all around him, and he listened for two particular voices amid the tumult; he thought, once, that he heard a cry go up from Altaïr’s Apprentice, but there was nothing he could do under the circumstances but to keep fighting. The tide of Templars forced him back for a few moments, and he could see nothing but red crosses on a background of white.

 

Cutting the final Templar down at last, Malik heard the heavy breathing of another over even his own. Turning, raising his sword in case it was another Templar that he had to deal with, Malik instead saw the gray robes of an Apprentice. The short stature told him that it was Altaïr’s Apprentice that he had found, and the bloody Templar blade still in his hand showed that the corpses fallen at his feet had not been put there by chance.

 

“Have you seen my brother?” he asked, catching his breath as he made his way over to the Apprentice’s side.

 

“Forgive me, I lost sight of him,” Altaïr’s Apprentice said, bowing his head and incidentally showing more humility in that single gesture than his idiot Master had shown in the entire time that Malik had known him.

 

“You wouldn’t be the first,” he said, biting back a groan as the pain of his wounds hit him in earnest, now that the battle had ended. “Come, we’ll search for him together.” He would need the boy’s sword-arm, in any case. His own felt like it had been all but shorn off.

 

“Of course,” Altaïr’s Apprentice said, raising his stolen blade into a guard position.

 

Malik had seen the blood dripping across his face, but since it had merely been coming from a cut above his right eyebrow, and since he already knew that head-wounds tended to bleed entirely out of proportion to their severity, Malik knew that any tending he would do could wait until the two of them had met up with Kadar. Or, at least until they had laid him to rest.

 

He was not about to allow hope to break his heart, even in spite of the fact that Altaïr’s Apprentice had somehow managed to acquire a sword from one of his enemies; he wasn’t about to think that Kadar could have been so fortunate.

 

As he came upon a large pile of Templar bodies, Malik swallowed the bile that crept up in his throat; Kadar lay there, impaled by many Templar blades. Malik did not bother to count them; it was enough to know that his brother had not been so fortunate as Altaïr’s Apprentice.

 

“I… I am sorry,” the quiet voice of Altaïr’s Apprentice spoke up. “I should have stayed closer to him; protected him, when you could not.”

 

Malik smiled slightly, but less bitterly than he would have done if it had been Altaïr himself. “No need; even _I_ lost sight of him in this madness. Let’s just lay him to rest and return to Masyaf. I have what we came for, at least.”

 

“Yes. Of course,” Altaïr’s Apprentice said, still sounding as if he blamed himself for Kadar’s death; he would have to speak to the boy, while the two of them were on their way back to Masyaf.

 

It would not do for the boy to tear himself apart, thinking that he was supposed to have protected Kadar over even his own life.

 

Making his way over to the box that the Templars had been protecting – after directing Altaïr’s Apprentice to bury Kadar where he had fallen – the one that they had all died for in this very room, he paused. There was little chance that he would be able to carry so large an object for as long as he needed to with only one good arm; he would still have done so, yes, if there were no other recourse, but there was _not_.

 

“Come here, would you?” he called, trying to remember the name of Altaïr’s Apprentice.

 

He’d never really paid much attention to the boy before, save to remark on his odd eyes at one point before the Master had informed them all that such a subject was not important. He’d always just seemed to be Altaïr’s quiet little shadow, and even moreso once he’d become the younger man’s Apprentice. Still, seeing him now, watching as the boy dropped the stolen Templar blade and picked up the treasure box, Malik thought that at least Altaïr’s Apprentice was not as insufferable as the man himself.

 

“Come, we’ll have to find another way out of this place,” he said, taking the lead, and looking back over his shoulder as the yellow-eyed boy fell into step behind him without a word.

 

The blood dripping down his face had dried, and was clearly starting to itch just as badly as Malik’s own uncleaned wounds were, if the discomfort on his face was any indication. Putting those thoughts aside – he would make the time for them to tend to each other’s wounds after they had left this killing-ground far behind them – Malik turned his eyes back to the path that he was leading them on. He would not be able to climb with his arm so damaged as it was, and the yellow-eyed boy behind him would be in the same situation, though obviously not for the same reasons.

 

Carefully making his way through the halls of the Temple Mount, his sword raised in case there were surviving Templars present, Malik sought a way out of the killing-field not far behind them. Soon enough, he found it. It was, likely as not, the rout that the Templars themselves had used to enter this place; none of them, after all, practiced the same arts of movement as the Assassins themselves had perfected.

 

“Come, I’ve found the way,” he said, turning to look at the yellow-eyed boy behind him.

 

“Of course,” the boy said, nodding as he clutched the box tighter and hurried his feet.

 

He lead the two of them through the winding halls of the Temple Mount, some of which they had been able to bypass coming in by taking the higher path that was now lost to them, and others that they had not, until he began to smell fresh air wafting in through the entrance of the Temple Mount.

 

“I seem to have forgotten your name,” he said, turning to look back at the soft-spoken, yellow-eyed boy that tailed him so well. “Could you tell me it again?”

 

“Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr,” the boy – Alnesr, Malik reminded himself – said, continuing to follow him closely.

 

“Altaïr is your father?” he scoffed, slightly amused by the thought of such an arrogant man having such a tolerable son. “You seem to have inherited all the good sense in the family; you must take after your mother.”

 

“Truthfully, I don’t know.” He looked back, watching as Alnesr shifted his grip slightly. “The Master said that Altaïr saved my life, and that because he did so, he was then responsible for it. I never knew my true parents; Altaïr never speaks of them.” The silence between them was heavy with thoughts, and Alnesr had soon broken it again. “The one time I did ask, he told me that they were unworthy of consideration.”

 

Malik narrowed his eyes; that sounded like something Altaïr would say, but what did the Master have to do with it? Putting those thoughts aside, promising himself that he would ask the Master about the matter of Alnesr, Altaïr, and their relation to one another once he and the boy himself had delivered this Templar treasure to him.

 

They soon reached the outside again.

 

“Hand me the box,” he said, smiling wryly. “There’s little chance of my riding a horse with only one good arm.”

 

“Of course,” Alnesr said, biting his lip as he handed the box over. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

 

“Yes, I know,” he replied, smiling at the boy even as he tucked the box under his good arm. “And, as I’ve said before, _you_ have no reason to apologize to me. You were not the one who got us attacked and nearly cost us the mission. Now go, tie the horses together, and we’ll be off.”

 

“Of course,” Alnesr said, his nod more like a subtle bow as he turned to go about his work.

 

When Malik had finished getting the box properly settled under his good arm, he saw that Alnesr had also finished his own appointed task: two of the horses that the four of them had journeyed to this place on had been harnessed together.  


“Good work, Alnesr,” he said, offering the boy praise in the hope of offsetting at least some of the uncertainty he was clearly prey to.

 

He honestly wasn’t sure _how_ someone who had been raised by the arrogant Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad could be so timid in the first place, but Malik had to admit that he much preferred it to any alternative. As he was helped onto his horse by Alnesr, smiling down at the yellow-eyed boy as he handed up the chest, Malik allowed himself to relax slightly. He would still need to keep his wits about him, of course, since riding a horse was not so simple as sitting in a chair, but with Alnesr guiding the lead horse, Malik knew that he could afford at least _some_ relaxation.

 

The day passed swiftly, and soon enough the two of them – or four, if one counted the horses – were settling down in a small island of greenery, in the shade of a single pair of palms.

 

“Can you give me some help with these wounds?” he asked, as Alnesr helped him down from the horse. “We should have time to tend to them before we sleep, at least.”

 

“Of course,” Alnesr said, reaching up to touch the dried blood streaking his face; it was only then that Malik noticed that it had sealed his right eye shut. “I think that would be best.”

 

“Come, then,” he said, deciding not to say anything; if Alnesr was not going to complain about his impairment, Malik wasn’t going to give him a reason to.

 

Alnesr was soon tearing a spare blanket that one of them had packed into strips that would serve for making bandages, and Malik smiled slightly at his diligence. He might have been raised by Altaïr, as well as being apprenticed to the insufferable man, but Alnesr clearly hadn’t absorbed any of the man’s worst traits.

 

While Alnesr tended to the wounds on his arm, Malik used a wet piece of cloth to clean the dried, caked on blood from the boy’s face, finally allowing him to open his right eye. Alnesr didn’t make any gesture of acknowledgement, but the expression on his face was one of such fierce concentration that Malik didn’t even have to guess why. Biting his lip after he had tied a last pair of strips of blanket into a makeshift sling for Malik’s own wounded arm, Alnesr sat back on his knees.

 

“I’m afraid that’s all I can manage,” the boy said, looking from the sling and bandages that he’d fashioned back up to Malik’s face, still with the same expression of uncertainty he’d worn ever since the two of them had been stranded together. “I haven’t the skill of any of the healers back at Masyaf.”

 

“I doubt any amount of skill is going to be able to help, now,” he said, with a reassuring smile that he hoped Alnesr would respond to. “Those Templar dogs do their work too well.”

 

There was no response from Alnesr, but he occasionally saw the boy glancing back at him as the two of them settled down to sleep. His last conscious thought was amused relief at the fact that Altaïr’s son – blood relation or not – was nowhere near as insufferable as the man himself.

 

The next four days passed in much the same manner: he would check Alnesr’s wound, after the boy had cleaned the wounds on his left arm and changed the dressings there, and then the two of them would settle down to sleep. He’d not known what to think, that first night when the boy had curled up next to him as they slept. As it turned out, the boy had just been seeking something soft to lay his head on.

 

It was amusing to think that he had done the same thing with Altaïr; he would not have expected the arrogant man to tolerate such a thing, but given the way the young Apprentice reacted, it seemed he did.

 

When the two of them finally returned to Masyaf, Malik was pleased to note that his wounds no longer pained him nearly so much as they had on that first day; uncertain as he had been about the quality of his work, Alnesr had done it well.

 

The mountain that their Order’s fortress sat atop was coming into view, and Malik had never been more pleased to see it. Of course, the fact that he was returning with not only the treasure that Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad himself had failed but also the arrogant man’s abandoned Apprentice _was_ certainly a reason to be pleased: he had done what Altaïr could not. And, while it _had_ cost him the life of his brother, it had not cost him so much as it could have.

 

It had also given him the opportunity to get to know Alnesr as more than just Altaïr’s young Apprentice, but that was not the foremost thing on his mind at this moment.

 

He had given the box to Alnesr to carry, once the boy had helped him to dismount and the two of them had left the horses in the care of the stable hands. The bindings on his wounded arm would need to be changed soon, that much he could feel, but now that they had returned to the fortress, he would be able to ask the healers to take care of such things rather than pressing Alnesr into service the way he had needed to do while the two of them had been between cities. Turning to look back at the boy following so quietly beside him, Malik found that Alnesr was worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

 

“What troubles you, brother?” he asked.

 

“I just- I wonder what will become of me. Of Altaïr. We’ve returned with the treasure, yes,” the boy said, looking up at him with earnest, worried yellow eyes. “But, I still wonder if it will be enough.”

 

“You care very much for that man,” Malik said, still unsure of quite how he felt about the matter; he would have said it was impossible for someone as arrogant as Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad to inspire honest loyalty in anyone, but the proof to the contrary was walking beside him even now. “Why do that to yourself? That man has hardly proven himself worthy of that kind of devotion.”

 

“Worthy or not, Master Altaïr is the only family I truly have left. He has done so much for me, that I feel this is the least I can do to repay his kindness.” Alnesr looked up at him again, and Malik knew the boy could see the expression he was wearing. “You may not understand it, but that _is_ the way I feel.”

 

“Of course,” he said, as the two of them continued walking.

 

On that last point, Alnesr was wrong: Malik _did_ understand now just what feeling was behind the loyalty that Alnesr felt toward Altaïr, of all people. It was the same kind that he had known that Kadar felt for him: that of family. Of people who trusted one another. Of course, it was odd to think of the arrogant Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad as someone who could inspire such trust in anyone, but then Alnesr _had_ said that he had been raised by the man.

 

And, even one so arrogant as Altaïr must have had _some_ good qualities to have attained the rank of Master Assassin.

 

Their journey up to the fortress was marked by the stares of the guards and those of their fellow Assassins that they passed, and Malik wondered for a moment if Altaïr had told all of them that he, Kadar, and even Alnesr had been killed by the Templars who had been waiting for them in the Temple Mount. The ones that Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad had been so arrogant as to challenge with only his unarmed Apprentice at his back.

 

Truly, the boy should have been angrier with the arrogant man for nearly getting him killed, or at least relieved that he was still alive to even return to the fortress in the first place, and yet it was obvious for anyone to see that Alnesr was still fretting over Altaïr. It was so much like Kadar had once done for him, a habit that he had had only limited success training his younger brother out of, that Malik began to feel a sort of kinship with the boy.

 

He may have looked odder than anyone – man or woman – that Malik had seen, with his pale yellow eyes and the bright, silvery-white hair that Malik could just catch a glimpse of under his hood, but Alnesr had indeed turned out to be far more tolerable than he would have expected, given who he had been raised by.

 

Making his way through the fortress, with Alnesr a silent but clearly fretting presence at his side, Malik began to hear the sounds of the Master and Altaïr himself discussing something. As the words became clearer to him, no longer muffled so much by both the walls and the distance separating them, Malik smirked slightly as he heard Altaïr attempting to justify his actions. Malik knew that he would not have been nearly so amused if he had been forced to make his journey alone, with the pain of his injured arm burning him almost as badly as the loss of Kadar, but having another to tend to his wounds, someone whose company was tolerable enough that he could relax in their presence and unburden himself somewhat, did help.

 

He was glad for small favors, at least.

 

“It was not enough,” he said, just as Altaïr had spoken up, trying to defend the actions that he had taken – the way that he had _run away_ – back in the tunnels beneath Solomon’s Temple.


	4. Turnabout

Both the Master and Altaïr himself turned to stare, as he lead Alnesr further into the Master’s chamber; it gave him at least _some_ pleasure to see that Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad – arrogant man that he was – was clearly feeling the same uncertainty that Alnesr had been prey to. And, while seeing that boy fretting the way he had been – and still seemed to be, when Malik took the time to study him – was somewhat worrisome to him, he thought that it was only right that the arrogant Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad would suffer so for his own arrogance.

 

“We still live, at least,” he said, resisting the urge to sneer at Altaïr, if only for Alnesr’s sake.

 

He could express his full displeasure to the arrogant man when they were both alone.

 

“And your brother?” the Master asked, looking over his bandaged wounds and bloodstained robes with compassion.

 

“Gone,” he said, feeling again the swell of mixed bitterness and pity; bitterness for the fact that his younger brother had been killed during a mission that would have been easy but for Altaïr, and pity for the fact that Alnesr so obviously still blamed himself for Kadar’s death. “Because of _you_ ,” he snarled at Altaïr, deliberately ignoring the way Alnesr briefly cringed at the tone of his voice.

 

“Robert threw me from the room. There was no way back; nothing I could do,” Altaïr said, making a pathetic attempt to justify his actions; Malik did not think that even someone so arrogant as Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad could believe such words.

 

“Only because you did not heed my warning,” he snapped, feeling a twinge in his useless left arm as he almost instinctively clenched his fists. “All of this could have been avoided, my brother would still be alive, and your Apprentice would not have been injured so.” Turning slightly, he softened his expression for Alnesr’s benefit; the boy was looking up at him with that same uncertain expression that Malik had come to dislike so much. “Your arrogance nearly cost us victory this day,” he snarled, turning his attention back to Altaïr himself once again.

 

As much as he had come to enjoy the company of Altaïr’s soft-spoken Apprentice, the man himself was not in his good-graces; there was very little chance that he would be again, unless the man was somehow able to change his ways.

 

“ _Nearly_?” the Master echoed, looking at him with new interest.

 

He smiled slightly; this triumph belonged to both him and Alnesr, but the simple fact was that even if he had been forced to make the long journey alone, the fact that he had something to hold over Altaïr’s head would have made him feel a great deal better about the situation. “We have what your favorite failed to find.”

 

Nodding to Alnesr as the young Apprentice looked to him, Malik smirked as the young Apprentice delivered it to the Master, setting it atop his desk and stepping back with a respectful bow. The boy’s gaze lingered for a few moments on the chest that he had just delivered, before he seemed to force his attention away from it. For a moment, Malik wondered what could have prompted such a reaction, but he was given little time to think of that, before a messenger burst into the room.

 

The sounds of running feet, the screams of those who could be either their fellow Assassins or citizens who lived in the town, and the unmistakable ring of clashing swords let him know what was going on even before the messenger could say a single word.

 

“It seems that we have returned with more than just the treasure,” he said, looking to the wall where the sounds of battle were coming through most strongly.

 

“Master, we are under attack!” the messenger that had burst in shouted, all propriety forgotten under the circumstances. “Robert de Sable lays siege to Masyaf village!”

 

_~AC1~_

 

He had not been foolish enough to truly _believe_ that his theft – the Assassins’ theft – of the Apple would go uncontested by the Templars; however, he would have honestly preferred slightly more time to prepare for this battle. Still, such things could not be helped sometimes. “So he seeks a battle, does he? Very well, I’ll not deny him. Go,” he told the messenger. “Inform the others. The fortress must be prepared.”

 

Returning his attention to the Assassin that he had taken under his wing – the one who had disappointed him so greatly this day – he frowned. “As for you, Altaïr… our discussion will have to wait. You must make for the village; destroy these invaders. Drive them from our home.”

 

“It will be done,” the young Assassin said, and he seemed somehow relieved to have been sent on such an assignment.

 

“Alnesr, return to your quarters; the battlefield is no place for an Apprentice.” Though, it was entirely possible, depending on Malik’s account of the boy’s actions, that he would not remain an Apprentice for even the rest of this day.

 

“Yes, Master Mualim,” the boy said, bowing with respect.

 

He noticed, however, that the child’s eyes lingered on the box that held the Apple, before he seemed to force his attention from it; bowing a second time before he left. _Interesting_ , Al Mualim mused; perhaps such obvious interest could be guided in the proper direction, given time. Now, however, there were more immediate concerns facing all of them.

 

“Malik, go to the healers, and have them see to your arm. Alnesr’s diligence is clear, and it pleases me to see such dedication, but I would not have you overlooked.”

 

“Thank you, Master,” Malik said, bowing in the same manner as Altaïr and Alnesr before him, and retreating from the room even as they had.

 

Leaving his study behind, curious about the boy Alnesr’s reaction to the Apple – he had known that the boy was not normal from the way his hair and eyes were colored, but he had never been given a reason to suspect that there was anything more to his appearance than the obvious – he nonetheless knew that his first task would be to prepare the Assassins to defend the city and the fortress that they claimed as their protectorate. His simple curiosity could wait until he had ensured that the Templars would not be able to retrieve the Apple. Not after all that he had done to claim it.

 

Speaking to the more talented and dedicated of the Assassins, Al Mualim arranged for the trap that he had helped to lay to be prepared to spring on Robert and his forces. Once he had finished with that, he turned his path and made for Alnesr’s quarters. Finding his way to the room where the odd-looking young Apprentice had been quartered when he had gained his rank and left Altaïr’s room, Al Mualim made his way inside.

 

He found the boy just settling down at his desk, after having divested himself of his outer robe; his odd, bright silver hair completely exposed.

 

“Alnesr,” he called, drawing the young Apprentice’s attention away from the contemplation that he had seemed to be absorbed in.

 

“Master Mualim?” the young Apprentice asked, looking startled. “What brings you here?”

 

“You seemed troubled by the presence of the Templar Treasure,” he said, deciding not to mention it by name; the boy did seem leery, and it would be best to allow him to come to the correct point of view with a minimum of prodding. “Would you be willing to speak with me about that?”

 

“It- it is not that I was troubled, Master Mualim,” Alnesr said, his strange, pale yellow eyes turning inward for a moment before his gaze settled again on Mualim himself. “The treasure… it seemed to- to draw me in, somehow. I do not know how I could explain it, but to say that- there is… something about the treasure that,” Alnesr sighed, seeming to have run out of words. “Draws me to it, somehow.”

 

“I understand; you’ve no need to say more,” he said, pondering the full implications of what Altaïr’s young Apprentice had said.

 

True, men were indeed drawn to the Apple, but that draw could only truly be exerted when a man – or, in rare cases, a woman – was in sight of the treasure itself. He had never heard of someone being drawn to the Apple when it was out of their sight, tucked away safely in a box; however, he had also never met someone like Alnesr. He had never put stock in the tales that Alnesr’s strange eye and hair colors had marked him as a demon, and yet they _did_ mark him, all the same. Perhaps there was more to the boy than even he had suspected.

 

However, those speculations would have to wait; for now, there were far more pressing matters to attend to.

 

“We will speak on this matter later, child,” he said, making his voice gentle so that Alnesr would trust him; Abbas’ betrayal had hurt the boy deeply, that much was clear for anyone to see. “For now, stay in your room. I will call on you later.”

 

“Yes, Master Mualim.”

 

Returning the nod – though Alnesr’s was more akin to a subtle bow – that the boy gave him, Al Mualim left the child to his contemplation. Time would tell if reaction that Alnesr had had to the Apple could be properly channeled, but for now, he had an old compatriot to meet. Robert de Sable would _not_ triumph this day.

 

_~AC1~_

 

Standing amidst his fellow Assassins, staring out at the corpses of the Templars whose blood now stained his robes and his blade, Altaïr couldn’t help but wonder if what the Master had said was indeed true. _Would_ Alnesr indeed see his flight from Solomon’s Temple as abandonment? As a betrayal? Would all the years that they had spent together – as Master and Apprentice; as the closest thing to family that was allowed within the Brotherhood – be tainted by that one, impulsive action of his?

 

“Altaïr,” Rauf’s call pulled him from his thoughts, and he was grateful for that. “Come.”

 

“Where are we going?” he asked, feeling weary of all this: the killing, the necessity of it, and the uncertainty he was now prey to regarding Alnesr.

 

“We have a surprise waiting for our guests,” the younger Assassin said, smiling slightly. “Just do as I do; it should become clear soon enough.”

 

Rauf was pointing high above them, up into the ramparts of the fortress. Sheathing his sword and putting aside his doubts, as any good Assassin learned to do, Altaïr followed Rauf up the series of ladders that lead to the summit of Masyaf fortress. The leaders of the Assassins, Al Mualim among them, were all gathered there. He crossed the floor toward the Master, but Master Mualim said not a word to him, mouth set in stern disapproval.

 

Rauf said for him to take his place on the rightmost of three wooden platforms jutting out into the air, and Altaïr did so without a word. Now, finding himself staring out into the valley over which Masyaf fortress presided, Altaïr felt that he was able to breathe once again. The wind rushing around him, the familiar cries of birds carried on it, and the sight of them wheeling and swooping through the air, let Altaïr forget – for just a few, fleeting, precious moments – just where he was and what had happened to him.

 

The sight of the Templars, those both alive and dead, brought his attention quickly and firmly back to the present; there was still much work to be done.

 

“ _Heretic_ ,” Robert de Sable snarled from his place at the head of his reduced forces, his steed shifting slightly underneath him in spite of the beast’s obvious discipline. “Return what you have stolen from me!”

 

“You’ve no claim to it, Robert,” Al Mualim’s strong voice echoed through the valley, and for a moment Altaïr found his thoughts turning to that very thing; the box had seemed to glow, but odder was the way Alnesr had reacted to it. It had almost seemed as if the boy _needed_ to be close to the treasure, or at least felt he had, and had only managed to force himself to leave though sheer force of will and the discipline that was ingrained into every Assassin. It was a troubling thought. “Take yourself from here, before I’m forced to thin your ranks further.”

 

“You play a dangerous game!” the Templar snapped.

 

“I assure you, this is no game.”

 

“So be it,” Robert de Sable snapped, his patience clearly at an end; there was something else in his tone, as well… Altaïr didn’t like it at all. “Bring forth the hostage!”

 

From the ranks of Templar soldiers, an Assassin was dragged forward. Gagged and bound, the young man nonetheless fought to free himself; it was an admirable thing, the determination displayed by all of their Brotherhood, but Altaïr had the feeling that determination alone would not be enough to win this day. Sure enough, once the Assassins had been given time to see the captured Assassin – a Novice, by the look of him – Robert signaled to one of his fellow Templars forward.

 

The unnamed Templar drove his blade into the Novice’s chest, spilling the young man’s blood all over the dry dirt of the valley.

 

“Your village lies in ruins, and your stores are hardly endless!” Robert shouted up to Master Mualim, as the Assassins around him caught their breath. “How long before your fortress crumbles from within? How disciplined will your men remain when the wells run dry, and their food is gone?”

 

“My men do not fear death, Robert. They welcome it; and the rewards it brings.” There was a note of definite  gloating in Robert’s harsh voice, but Master Mualim was as calm as ever.

 

“Good! Then they shall have it all around!” Robert shouted; if Altaïr could have seen the expression on his face, he was certain he would have seen rage.

 

“Show this fool Knight what it means to have no fear!” the Master said. “Go to god!”

 

Still, he knew that – Templar though he was – Robert de Sable was not lying. Nor was he arrogantly assuming that he could do more than he was capable of. The Templars were indeed capable of laying siege to Masyaf; cutting the Assassins off from the supplies they needed to sustain themselves, keeping them from obtaining food and water once their stocked supplies had run out. It would not be long, if such were allowed to happen, before the Brotherhood as a whole had been weakened enough for Robert and his Templars to attack with little fear of reprisal.

 

Altaïr could only hope that the Master’s plan, whatever it turned out to be, would help them to avoid such a fate.

 

“Follow me, and do so without hesitation,” Rauf said, bringing Altaïr’s attention back to the mission at hand.

 

Without a word, Altaïr moved to the end of the platform he was standing upon and looked down from it. There was a pile of hay, enough to break a fall, beneath the platforms each of the three of them stood upon. He was beginning to see just what it was that Master Mualim had planned, and he hoped that such would be enough to deal with Robert de Sable and his Templars.

 

The sound of his robes flapping, a sound like soft rain or the lapping of the sea, helped Altaïr to leave his thoughts behind; something that he had long since learned to do once he had made his first Leap of Faith. Soon, he came to a place of stillness within himself; the place that allowed him to fight without fear, that allowed him to leap without hesitation from even the tallest of towers. Everything else, even the threatening words that the Master was exchanging with Robert de Sable, fell away then.

 

For a few moments, Altaïr felt as free as the eagle he had often been compared to.

 

“Now,” Rauf said, catching what little attention Altaïr had spared for the outside world.

 

The three of them leapt then, wind rushing past them, and time ceased to exist for the few moments that he was falling through the air; all of his worries and thoughts for the future – his concern for Alnesr and what might become of them both after this day – washed away in the rush of wind.

 

He landed perfectly, the haystack breaking his fall as it was meant to do, and Rauf had done so as well, but the Assassin whose name he did not know – the one who had been placed on the leftmost platform – was not either so fortunate or so skillful; his leg snapped with a sound like a dry twig that had been muffled by cloth. Rauf was at the other Assassin’s side in seconds, hushing him so that the Templars would not be able to hear him and thus spoil there plans.

 

“I’ll stay behind and attend to him,” Rauf said, once he had managed to quiet the other Assassin. “You’ll have to go ahead without us; the ropes there will bring you to the trap. Release it; rain death upon our enemies.”

 

Nodding, Altaïr left without a word and with only a single look back. He wondered for a moment just how his fellow Assassins had been able to set such a trap without him knowing about it, and if there were other facets of the Brotherhood that remained unknown to him. Putting those thoughts out of his mind, Altaïr devoted his attention wholly to the task he had set for himself: that of navigating the log-bridges, walls, and ledges that stood between him and the trap that Rauf had spoken of.

 

Standing at last atop the tall watchtower that overlooked the valley, Altaïr looked down through the spaces between the boards and saw the trap: heavy, greased logs stockpiled and resting on a tilted platform; many of them, perhaps even enough to kill or drive off all of the Templars before they could begin their siege. Moving with the silence that he had trained into himself over his long years of service in the Brotherhood, he looked down upon the ranks of Templar knights standing with their backs to him.

 

They had no idea what was going to happen, and for the first time in several days – as he raised his sword to cut the ropes holding the logs in place – Altaïr smiled.

 

The logs swept in, scattering the ranks of Templar knights, and killing more than a few, he was happy to note. Robert de Sable, mounted on his horse, was not among their number. It was a troublesome thing, that, but he was not going to focus on it. There was nothing to be done without archers, and summoning them was not his duty.

 

No matter _how much_ he wished to see a feathered shaft driven between Robert de Sable’s eyes.

 

Below him, the other Assassins were beginning to gather, all of them seeming pleased with the outcome of this battle; those who had died during it would be mourned, yes, but the fact that the Brotherhood was alive and free to _do_ such mourning was worthy of note all the same. Still, he could not help but to think that this would not be the end of things; not after everything that had happened. Not after everything he had done, and everything he had _not_ done.


	5. The price of failure

Once he had finished his business with Altaïr – brash as the man was and had been, he was still a worthy member of the Assassin Brotherhood; he would only need to be reminded of what that entailed – Al Mualim made his way down the corridors of Masyaf fortress towards Alnesr’s room. He’d spoken to Malik about the role Altaïr’s former Apprentice had played in their escape from Robert de Sable’s Templars and the recovery of the Apple. Then, once he had been satisfied with the accounting given the boy, he had made a stop at the both the tailor, and the weapon smith to pick up an item that he had given over to their keeping long ago.

 

And also to acquire an item that Altaïr’s former Apprentice would be making use of a great many times in the near future.

 

Rapping on the door of the young, former Apprentice’s – not that young Alnesr knew that, as yet – room, Al Mualim stood back as the door was opened. Alnesr stood in the doorway, the expression on his face one that Al Mualim could not quite place.

 

“Hello again, Master Mualim,” the boy said, the unreadable expression on his face clearing, replaced with curiosity. “You said that you wished to speak to me,” stepping aside slightly, Alnesr gestured to his desk and the chair that sat in front of it. “Would you like to come inside?”

 

“It is kind of you to offer, child, but I have matters to discus with you that require your presence in my study,” he said; for a moment, Alnesr looked uncertain, but he soon put aside his doubts as every Assassin learned to do. “Now go; change into your robes and come with me.”

 

“Of course, Master Mualim,” Alnesr said, bowing and turning to do as he’d been told. “I will return shortly.”

 

Waiting for a few moments, he smiled gently as Alnesr came back out in full Assassin regalia; the regalia of an Apprentice, yes, but he was not to know that this would be the last day that he would wear such clothes. He placed his right hand on the young former Apprentice’s shoulder, guiding the boy gently back to his study so that the two of them could speak in earnest.

 

Making his way through the corridors and back to his study, Al Mualim found the curiosity that Alnesr’s words about the Apple had awakened gnawing at him once more; still, he contented himself with the fact that the boy would now be reporting directly to him. He would be able to speak more candidly to the child, more than that, he now had a more than passing interest in the boy; to have seen his reaction to the Apple, even though the treasure itself had been stored inside the box that Malik had brought to him, that had not been something that he could have ever expected.

 

Once the two of them had reached his study, Al Mualim directed Alnesr to stand before his desk, and then settled himself in his chair behind it. Alnesr waited quietly, and Al Mualim was pleased to see the child’s discipline even in the face of his obvious uncertainty.

 

“I can see that you are wondering why I have called you here, child,” he said, making his voice gentle so that Alnesr could take comfort from it. “You, the abandoned Apprentice of Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad. A man, who in spite of all his years of dedicated service, made a grave mistake that revealed us to the Templars and cost several Assassins their lives this day.” Alnesr’s lips parted briefly, but then he seemed to think better of whatever it was that he would have said. “I have heard accounts of you from Malik; you have proved that the lessons that Altaïr taught were not wasted, though _he_ seems to have forgotten them, now.” Alnesr’s gaze was focused on his face, and while it was plain to see that the child was curious, it was just as plain that he trusted in Al Mualim himself to allay such curiosity; he was pleased to see such discipline in one so young.

 

Clearly, Altaïr had only passed the better parts of his nature onto the boy that he had raised as his son.

 

“Indeed, I will be counting on you, Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr, to remind your former Master of the lessons that he has clearly forgotten.”

 

“Forgive me for questioning your wisdom, Master Mualim, but how am I to do that?” Alnesr asked, speaking at last.

 

Al Mualim smiled gently, holding the knife he had been heating just out of the child’s line of sight. “Give me your right hand, child.”

 

Alnesr’s hand, tanned by the sun and hardened from the work that the child had done during the seven long years that Altaïr had trained him – first as one of the many children within the fortress, then as a Novice, and finally as the man’s own apprentice – was offered to him without hesitation. Gently spreading the child’s – though, after this day he would no longer call the boy such to his face – fingers, Al Mualim grasped Alnesr’s ring finger and drove his heated knife into the base of it.

 

To his credit, Alnesr did not cry out as his finger was severed, though he did hiss in pain. In that way, the child reminded him all the more of Altaïr. Fitting, of course, since not only had Alnesr been raised by the man, the boy had been trained by him since he was old enough to properly understand the role of the Assassins.

 

“Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr, I hereby promote you to the rank of full Assassin, in recognition of your valor in battle, and the understanding of the Creed that you have demonstrated,” he said, standing once more. “Now, Alnesr, follow me, and I shall complete your initiation.”

 

“Of… Of course,” the child said, his voice quavering but the expression on his face making it clear that he was merely excited and pleased. “Thank you, Master Mualim.”

 

Leading the boy back through the corridors of the fortress, Al Mualim smiled softly. He could not deny that he, too, felt some pride in Alnesr; he had been the one to teach Altaïr of the Creed and what it truly meant to be an Assassin, and to see the proof that a pupil he had taught had been capable of teaching in his own turn was gratifying. True, he might have been holding himself aloof from these Assassins and their Brotherhood – and, he could at least admit to himself that he would have honestly preferred to instruct his students in the proper way of living – but seeing his own student become a teacher in his turn was indeed a pleasant thing all the same.

 

The two of them had soon reached the highest tower of the fortress, and Al Mualim lead Alnesr out into room at the top of the watchtower. The same place, in fact, that Altaïr, Rauf, and Hakim had leaped from in their efforts to deal with Robert’s Templars when they had attacked. Alnesr stood in the doorway for only a few moments, before making his way over to the rightmost platform. If he had been the sort of man who believed in such things, he might have found it fitting that Altaïr’s former Apprentice had chosen the very platform that the man himself had used to perform his first Leap of Faith.

 

Still, the rightmost platform was the closest to the entrance to the fortress, and that was most likely the whole of the reason that Alnesr had chosen as he had.

 

Moving closer as Alnesr stood at the center of the platform, turning as if to take in all of the valley at once, or as close to it as he could manage with only one set of eyes, Al Mualim saw that the young Assassin was not afraid – as some others might have been during a time such as this – he was clearly enthralled by the sight of the valley spread out beneath and before them. Making his way over to the young Assassin’s side, Al Mualim placed his hands on the young man’s shoulders, guiding his gaze in the proper direction.

 

“Tell me what you see, Alnesr,” he said, subtly turning the boy so that he would have a better view.

 

“I see the valley that that the fortress stands watch over, and in the distance the village,” the young Assassin said.

 

“Yes,” he said, smiling slightly. While he might wish that he could have guided this boy onto the true path to peace, it was still pleasing to the teacher in him to see that Alnesr was so eager to learn. “The village that we Assassins have stood guard over for as long as this fortress has existed. The very place that the Templars would destroy, were they to be given the chance. It is the duty of every Assassin to take a hand in their defense, and they in turn contribute to our own survival by supplying us with food and clothing.”

 

“Altaïr has told me that the villagers and the Assassins are two parts of the same whole; that we all stand together against the Templars,” Alnesr said, the reflective expression on his face suggested that he was looking into his memories rather than down at the village before them.

 

“He still has some wisdom, then,” Al Mualim said. “Still, you must be the one to remind him of the wisdom he has clearly forgotten at this juncture.”

 

“How will I do that, Master?” Alnesr asked, odd, pale yellow eyes turning to regard him once more.

 

“First, you must truly become a full Assassin,” he said, moving off the platform so that Alnesr stood alone once more. “Show me what it is to have no fear, Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr.”

 

“Yes, Master Mualim,” the young Assassin said, bowing slightly to him before turning to perform his first Leap of Faith.

 

Making his way to the edge of the tower, Al Mualim watched as Alnesr emerged from the haystack and made his way back to the side of the tower. He had had little enough opportunity to observe the boy’s training, his business with the Templars and the fact that Altaïr himself had taken on the task of raising and training the boy by that time, so seeing Alnesr make his way back up the side of the tower with such ease and strength was rather pleasing to see.

 

“Good work, Alnesr,” he said, as the young Assassin made his way back up to the top of the tower. “You have proved your dedication to our Brotherhood, and thus proven that you are fully worthy to take your place among our ranks.”

 

“Thank you, Master Mualim,” Alnesr said, bowing slightly to him.

 

“Now, follow me,” he said, turning to leave with a last look at the young Assassin. “There is still much for us to do, you and I.”

 

“Of course, Master Mualim.”

 

Reflecting back on the young man whose initiation he had just finished, Al Mualim felt again a sense of regret that he would be forced to treat the young man just as he would all of the other Assassins. Still, even for all of Alnesr’s fine qualities, the child had still been raised by the Assassins and would hence need be treated as an Assassin himself. There was no time, and no point, in wishing things otherwise.

 

Alnesr and Altaïr were what they were, and Al Mualim was what he was; and if either of them were to discover his nature, then they would act as their own nature dictated.

 

_~AC1~_

 

Altaïr could not be certain if he were awake, dreaming, or if he had indeed died when the Master had stabbed him. He _could_ not know, for those first few moments, but as his vision cleared and Altaïr felt his senses slowly returning to him, Altaïr began to honestly doubt that he had died. He did not know how that was possible, considering that he _had_ indeed felt the Master’s knife in his belly, but it seemed to be what was happening to him in the end.

 

As his senses slowly returned, Altaïr realized that he was standing on his feet. He did not know how this was possible, not after everything that he could remember happening, but that seemed to be the position that he was in. Altaïr wondered just where he was, if he had died and this was indeed the Paradise that they had been promised.

 

Still, if it _was_ somehow Paradise, it looked a great deal more like Master Mualim’s study than he had been lead to believe.

 

The Master even stood before him, looking down with an inscrutable expression.

 

“I am… Alive?” he wondered aloud, hands moving instinctively to his belly. He expected to find the wound that had nearly ended his life, bandaged or not, and likely still bleeding at this point. He felt nothing, not even the wrappings that he had often seen on more grievously wounded Assassins. “But, I saw you stab me. Felt death’s embrace.”

 

“You saw what I wanted you to see,” Al Mualim said, the inscrutable expression remaining in place. “And then you slept the sleep of the dead, of the womb, so that you might awake, and be reborn.”

 

“To what end?” he asked, still attempting to regain his composure.

 

“Do you remember, Altaïr, what it is the Assassins fight for?” the Master asked, the inscrutable expression on his face remaining.

 

“Peace, in all things,” he stated, still feeling rather off-balance but making the attempt to master himself.

 

“Yes, in _all_ things,” the Master said firmly, almost angrily. “It is not enough to end the violence that one man commits upon another, it refers to peace within, as well. You cannot have one without the other.”

 

“So it is said,” he allowed, though there were times that he doubted.

 

“So it _is_ ,” the Master snapped, the color in his cheeks rising the way that Altaïr had only seen a few times before. “But _you_ , my son, have not found inner peace. It manifests in ugly ways. You are arrogant; overconfident.”

 

“Were you not the one to say that nothing is true, and everything is permitted?” he asked; truly that had been one of the tenets that the Master had emphasized to him, and that he in his turn had passed on to Alnesr.

 

“You do not understand the true meaning of the phrase, my child,” Master Mualim said, sounding disappointed once more. “It does not grant you the freedom to do as you wish, it is a knowledge meant to guide your senses. It expects a wisdom you clearly lack.”

 

“Then what is to become of me?” he asked, trying not to show the uncertainty he now felt.

 

“I should kill you for the pain that you’ve brought upon us,” the Master said, his single eye focusing on Altaïr with an intensity that he’d not often seen. “Malik thinks it only fair: your life in exchange for his brother’s.” The way that the Master paused after making that statement seemed deliberate, and Altaïr steeled himself for whatever would come next. “But, that would be a waste of my time and your talents. You see, you have been stripped of your possessions; your rank, as well. You are demoted, a child, once more; as you were on the day you first came to us. I am offering you a chance at redemption. You will earn your way back into the Brotherhood.”

 

“I assume you’ve something planned,” he said knowing that it had to be true.

 

“First, you must prove to me that you remember _how_ to be an Assassin,” the Master said, coming out from behind his desk to pace the length of it.

 

“So, you would have me take a life?” he asked, suspecting that such would not be the extent of his punishment.

 

“No; not yet, at least,” the Master said firmly. “For now, you are to become a student once again.”

 

“If that is the case, then what is to become of Alnesr?” he asked; he and the boy had served together – had _lived_ together – for so long that he almost did not know how to react to this. True, the two of them would likely have gone their separate ways once Alnesr had gained the rank of a full Assassin, but that time had not yet come.

 

“This is the first that you have seen fit to ask of him,” the Master said, the inscrutable expression that he had worn earlier returning to his face. “Do you remember, then, the lessons that you taught the boy?”

 

“I taught him of the Creed, of the work that we Assassins do; just as you taught me, Master,” he said, wondering what the point of this conversation was.

 

“Yes, and from the account that Malik gave of him, he has learned those lessons well,” Master Mualim said, folding his arms and studying him closely. “Alnesr seems to have learned the lessons that you taught him better than the ones that I taught you, my child.”

 

He did not know what the Master meant by speaking of lessons this way, but it was clear that he had some greater plan in mind. “So it would seem,” he allowed.

 

“In the past, Altaïr, Alnesr would have gathered the information that you required to hunt down your targets, and others would have done so before Alnesr had taken his place as your Apprentice,” the Master said, gazing down on him with a stern expression. “But no more. From this day forward, you will track them yourself.”

 

“If that is what you wish,” he said; it was not such a harsh punishment as he had been expecting, considering the disappointment in him that the Master had displayed so openly.

 

“You will also be accompanied by your new Master; watch him, learn the lessons that he has to teach, and I am certain that you will prove yourself worthy of rejoining the Brotherhood once more.”

 

“ _New_ Master?” he demanded; the thought that he would become an Apprentice once more was not one that had ever occurred to him. He could only hope that it was not Malik that he would be serving under; anyone else would have been better than that insufferable man.

 

“Yes; I believe that the two of you will get along rather well,” the Master said, turning to look over at the far right side of his study, into the shelves of books and scrolls that Altaïr had long since stopped paying any particular attention to. “You may come out now. Come, there is no need for hesitation.”

 

Another Assassin made his way out from the shelter of the shelves; this new Assassin was too short to be Malik, and the fact that this newcomer still possessed both of his arms let Altaïr know that this was not the man that he had wronged in the past. Still, that did leave the question of this new, smaller Assassin’s identity unanswered as yet.

 

When the shorter Assassin turned to look at him, the first thing Altaïr noticed were his eyes. Pale yellow, like saffron-dyed cloth that had been left to fade in the sun. It was the first thing that had called his attention to the boy back when he had merely been a babe in his father’s arms; that day, when he had first killed in defense of someone who could not yet defend themselves.

 

“Alnesr,” he said, he’d not expected this; Alnesr was wearing the garb of a full Assassin, and when he looked to boy’s right arm, Altaïr could see the bracer that held his former Apprentice’s new hidden blade.

 

The boy’s lips parted briefly, as if he wanted to say something but did not know just what to say in such a situation as this. “Altaïr,” he said instead.

 

The uncertainty that Alnesr was so clearly feeling was perversely comforting to him in this situation; there was little chance that the Master had told him of the plans that he had made, if the boy was reacting like this.

 

“The two of you have worked together in the past, accomplishing more than either of you could have easily done alone,” the Master said, looking over the both of them as Alnesr moved closer to him.

 

“Then, tell me what you wish us to do,” he said, moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Alnesr the way that they had done so often in the past.

 

The inscrutable expression returned to the Master’s face as he took in the two of them, but he did not give voice to whatever troubled him. “I hold here a list; nine names adorn it. Nine men who need to die. They are plague-bringers, war makers; their power and influence corrupts the land, and ensures that the Crusades continue. You will find them all, and kill them. In doing so, you will sow the seeds of peace. Both for the region, and for yourself. Alnesr, your task will be to see that your Apprentice relearns the lessons that he has so clearly forgotten; just as he taught you your lessons in the past, it is now your task to teach him.”

 

“Yes, Master Mualim,” Alnesr said, though he still sounded rather uncertain.

 

“Nine lives, in exchange for my own,” he said, contemplating what he and Alnesr would soon be doing.

 

“A most generous offer, I should think,” he said, turning his gaze to take in Alnesr once more. “Have you any questions, Alnesr?”

 

“Where do we begin, Master?” his former Apprentice asked.

 

“Your journey will begin in Damascus,” the Master said, sounding pleased with the resolve he now heard in Alnesr’s voice; Altaïr was as well, but now was not a time to discus such things. “There you will find a black market merchant named Tamir; let him be the first to fall.” Master Mualim made his way over to the cage of carrier pigeons that he kept for delivering messages to the Assassin Bureaus maintained in other cities, removing a bird from the cage, he cupped the creature gently in his hands. “Be sure to visit the city’s Assassin Bureau when you arrive. I’ll dispatch a bird to inform the Rafiq of your arrival. Speak with him; you’ll find that he has much to offer.”

 

“If you think it best,” he said, wondering at just what message the Master was trying to impart to them with these cryptic words of his.

 

“I do,” the Master said firmly. “Besides, you can not begin your mission without his consent, Altaïr.”

 

“What nonsense is this?!” he demanded, affronted on Alnesr’s behalf as well as his own. “An Assassin is not required to _report_ their activities to anyone.”

 

“Alnesr will not be required to account for _his_ activities,” Master Mualim said, his tone sharp enough to catch Altaïr’s attention even in spite of the indignation that he felt. “But for yours. This is the price you pay for the mistakes you have made, Altaïr: you answer not only to me, and not only to your Master, but to all of the Brotherhood as well, now.”

 

“So be it,” he conceded, knowing that he would not be able to change the Master’s mind now that he had made it up but still displeased by the situation all the same.

 

“Go, then,” the Master said, his usual calm settling about him like a mantle. “Prove that you are not yet lost to us.” There was a moment of silence, as the Master took something from underneath his desk. “Alnesr, come; take this.” Watching in slight puzzlement as the Master handed his bracer to Alnesr, Altaïr wondered what the meaning of that action was. “Give this to your Apprentice when you feel that he is ready to carry it once again.”

 

“Yes, Master Mualim,” Alnesr said, only the tone of his voice showing the uncertainty he felt; his face was as professionally blank as an Assassin twice his age.

 

Altaïr felt a swell of pride; he had indeed taught his former Apprentice well.


	6. The hunters depart

As the two of them made their way down the stairs and away from the Master’s study, Altaïr turned to look at Alnesr. His former Apprentice was staring down at the bracer in his hands, finally allowing his face to show the uncertainty he had clearly felt while he had been speaking with the Master in his study.

 

“Ma- Altaïr,” his former Apprentice said, one of his front teeth showing over his lower lip for a moment. “Would you like this back?”

 

“Yes, thank you,” he said, taking the bracer back and fixing it onto his left arm. “Come, we’ll go to the stables and get underway.”

 

“Of course, Altaïr,” Alnesr said, nodding as the two of them fell into step with one another.

 

As he continued on his way, passing by his and Alnesr’s fellow Assassins and finally out of Masyaf fortress itself, Altaïr breathed more easily. It felt as if he _had_ indeed been reborn, as Master Mualim had intended; an odd thing, yes, but it was the way he felt nonetheless. Looking over at Alnesr, Altaïr found that his former Apprentice seemed to be mastering the uncertainty he had been plagued by earlier.

 

The sudden reversal of their respective roles had caught the both of them off-guard; Altaïr had to admit that it was true even for him. The Master must have had some greater purpose for doing as he had. It was their task to adapt to it, as all Assassins adapted to their changing situations.

 

The fortress of Masyaf was far behind them by now, and they were beginning to encounter the villagers that worked in the valley as a gesture of thanks for the protection that the Assassins provided for them. Making his way down to the stables, Altaïr looked over his right shoulder at Alnesr once more. His former Apprentice seemed to have regained the composure that the events of this eventful day had caused him to lose.

 

It was good to see; they would both need their wits about them for this mission; these nine men would not fall easily.

 

“Mount up,” he said, simply to fill the silence that had settled between the two of them.

 

“Of course, M- Altaïr,” Alnesr said; Altaïr knew what his former Apprentice had almost said, and he could not quite keep from shaking his head.

 

This situation was strange for the both of them, clearly. He didn’t know of any other pairs of Master and Apprentice who had been shuffled around as he and Alnesr had been. He did not know just why Master Mualim had decreed this, why he would have reassigned him and Alnesr as Apprentice and Master when the two of them had worked as Master and Apprentice for so many years, but the Master had to have had his reasons.

 

Altaïr did not know just what those reasons were, in the end, but he knew that the Master had them, all the same.

 

Mounted upon one of the many horses kept in the stables for use by both the Assassins and the villagers, Altaïr turned and watched as Alnesr mounted his own chosen horse. Nodding to his former Apprentice, he continued to watch until Alnesr had fully settled himself atop the horse, and then the two of them set off. The journey was not going to be a short one, and for that reason he had guided Alnesr to choose one of the horses who had been provisioned for long journeys such as the one that he and his former Apprentice were undertaking now.

 

Allowing himself to settle into his usual attitude of restful awareness that he had learned to maintain while on long journeys such as this one, Altaïr looked to his right. Alnesr’s horse was close enough beside him that he could have reached out and touched his former Apprentice’s left shoulder, but he would not do such a thing in this case. He would not distract Alnesr from whatever thoughts that the boy – rather, young man, now that he had gained the rank of full Assassin – was absorbed by.

 

Altaïr’s own thoughts were in Damascus, with Tamir; the fact that he was being sent there as the Apprentice of the one who had previously been his own Apprentice was an odd one, to be sure. Still, there was also the matter of Tamir himself; Alnesr would not be the one assigned to collect the information on the targets that they had been assigned. It had been some time since Altaïr had been required to observe his own targets in the field, to track them down through various means and collect information in various ways, rather than conferring with Alnesr once the young man returned to him flushed with success.

 

Strangely enough, Altaïr almost found himself anticipating that; Alnesr had seemed to carry with him a sense of satisfaction as he completed the information-gathering missions that Altaïr had sent him on back during the time when the young man had been Altaïr’s own Apprentice.

 

Still, if thought of another way, the fact that he was now required to go forth and seek information under the command of a boy six years his junior could easily be seen as a grave blow to his pride. Pride was what had brought him so much grief in the first place, however, and so Altaïr dismissed those thoughts almost out of hand. He would not allow himself to fail in this endeavor.

 

Their journey to Damascus was as uneventful as he could ask for, aside from the pilgrims on the roads that he had always seemed to encounter.

 

Alnesr fell in line behind him as the path before them narrowed, and Altaïr glanced back over his right shoulder at his former Apprentice. Turning his attention back to the path, Altaïr deftly guided his horse through the crowds of pilgrims, traders, and travelers making their way into Damascus. The two of them had soon come into sight of the large, imposing gates just outside the city.

 

He and Alnesr had visited this place the previous year, his then-Apprentice gathering the information that he needed to take the lives of the two men who had been his targets.

 

Before he and Alnesr could begin their work on this latest assignment – gathering the information that he would need to end Tamir’s wretched life – they would need to enter the city itself. They would need to do so without being challenged by the guards, of course, since the success of their mission depended on their stealth and being able to blend into the crowd.

 

Looking to Alnesr, he tilted his head subtly to indicate that the young Assassin should follow him, and lead his horse to a post so that he could tether the beast. Waiting while Alnesr did likewise, Altaïr took the opportunity to study the Saracen guards that stood just outside the gates. They would be trouble if they managed to spot either himself or Alnesr, and were better avoided under all circumstances.

 

However, just as he had considered and then just as quickly dismissed the walls – too high, and too smooth to be scaled in any case – as a method of entering Damascus, Altaïr saw the group of scholars making their way toward the gates.

 

He knew that Salah Al’din respected scholars and hence allowed them to walk the streets freely, untroubled by the guards and protected from any trouble that the citizens might give them, and so he knew what the best method of entering Damascus was to be.

 

“Alnesr, come,” he said, patting the young Assassin’s right shoulder to draw his attention, then nodding to the scholars as they moved slowly down the path to Damascus.

 

“Of course, M- Altaïr.”

 

The two of them matched the pace of the scholars, assuming their most pious poses and matching their own movements to the gait of the scholars on their way into Damascus. They became as one with the group of scholars, just as they had been taught to become as one with the crowds that they moved through, and in such a way they were able to make their way past the guards and into the city itself without being noticed more than any one person took note of a simple scholar.

 

Once the two of them had made it into the city, Altaïr did not allow himself to raise his head. They were still within sight of not only the guards, but also Damascus’ large population itself. Fortunately, there were not many citizens about in this area of the city, so he was able to break away from the group of scholars and lead Alnesr through the streets.

 

Matching his movements to the few citizens in this area of the city, Altaïr searched for a way up the side of the buildings he was passing. He’d been to this city before, yes, but the memories of its layout had faded during the two years when he had been away; clearly, he would need to reacquaint himself with Damascus before he and Alnesr could properly begin their mission.

 

He had soon found a minaret that would allow him comparatively easy access to the roof, and turned slightly to signal to Alnesr that the young man should follow him. Making his way up the side of the building, Altaïr couldn’t quite keep himself from maintaining a subtle watch on his young, former Apprentice; Alnesr climbed with the same confidence and skill that he himself had demonstrated. Truly, he had taught the young Assassin well.

 

Still, it remained to be seen how well Alnesr and he could adapt to their new roles; how well they could jointly carry out the task that the Master had assigned them.


	7. Reversed role-reversal

Steadily climbing to the top of the minaret, Altaïr crouched there for a few, long moments; he had almost forgotten how enthralling the view of the city was from this high. Taking a moment to study the layout of Damascus more completely, Altaïr turned back to look at Alnesr. His former Apprentice was smiling slightly.

 

“You see it too, don’t you?”

 

“Yes,” Alnesr said, his pale yellow eyes half-closing as he too looked out over the city. “It always seems that one doesn’t properly see the city, until they see it from this vantagepoint. Sometimes… I- I suppose we should go to the Bureau now.”

 

“Yes, I suppose we should,” he said; he would speak to Alnesr more plainly once the two of them had reached the Bureau and had been given the chance to settle in somewhat.

 

Turning his attention back to the view laid out before him, Altaïr searched for a soft landing-spot; finding a cart of hay, he waited for a few more moments until he could be certain that there would be no one to hear what was to happen, then turned back to Alnesr.

 

“Wait a few moments more, and then follow me,” he said.

 

“Of course,” his former Apprentice said, nodding calmly.

 

After a nod back to the young man, Altaïr turned his attention back to the cart that he had found. Leaping from the minaret, Altaïr felt the momentary freedom of the air rushing past him, before he fell into the cart of hay. Waiting a moment for the remaining people, those few who had not yet made it inside to attend to their prayers, to disperse, Altaïr climbed out of the cart and felt the hay falling away from his body. Moments later, he saw Alnesr dive into the cart himself.

 

For a moment, he thought to offer his former Apprentice a hand, but no; Alnesr was no longer a child. It would not be right if Altaïr continued to treat him as one. When Alnesr reached his right hand up hesitantly, Altaïr paused for a moment. Then, feeling the young man brushing his hood, Altaïr smiled slightly as a small piece of hay was dislodged and fluttered down past his eyes. Reaching out, he gently brushed the still-clinging hay from his former Apprentice’s shoulders.

 

“Come, we’ll be expected,” he said, turning and nodding in the direction of the Bureau’s tower, though it was not visible now that they were both standing on the ground once more.

 

“Of course,” Alnesr said, nodding as the two of them made their way to a nearby building and scaled the wall.

 

Leading Alnesr over the rooftops and toward the tower that marked the Bureau’s location, Altaïr dropped into the vestibule amid the sound of a flowing fountain. As Alnesr landed beside him, the plants muffling the sounds of their movements, Altaïr smiled slightly. Perhaps the boy _was_ no longer his Apprentice, but Altaïr could clearly see the results of his teachings.

 

Truly, anyone could tell that Alnesr had indeed been _his_ Apprentice.

 

Continuing into the main room of the Bureau after a moment, he saw the Rafiq lounging behind the counter; the man came swiftly to attention when the two of them entered, of course.

 

“Altaïr, it is good to see you again,” the man said, nodding respectfully to him. “And in one piece, too.” The Rafiq’s smile was not entirely sincere; he did not like the look in the man’s eyes, either. “And Alnesr, I heard that you have finally managed to attain the rank of Assassin; good work. I am certain that your Apprentice will learn a great deal from you.”

 

“Thank you,” Alnesr said, nodding respectfully to the man.

 

“I am sorry to hear of _your_ troubles, Altaïr,” the Rafiq said, his expression still seeming rather insolent; Alnesr clearly either did not notice or was attempting to be polite.

 

“Think nothing of it,” he said, already wishing to be about his business rather than dealing with this man.

 

“A few of your brothers were here earlier, Altaïr,” the Rafiq said, that insolent smile still on his face. “Oh, if you had heard the things they were saying, I’m certain you would have slain them all where they stood.”

 

“It’s quite all right,” he said, having long since grown weary of the Rafiq’s insolence and false friendship.

 

“Yes,” the Rafiq said, grinning now. “You’ve never been one for the Creed, have you?”

 

“Brother; enough,” Alnesr said, his tone sharper than Altaïr had ever heard before.

 

“My apologies, Alnesr; I forgot myself,” the Rafiq said, seeming humbled at last. “What business brings the two of you to Damascus?”

 

“A black market merchant named Tamir; Master Mualim has taken issue with the work he does, and has sent us to end it,” Alnesr said. “What do you know of him?”

 

“Your Apprentice will need to track him,” the Rafiq said, his gaze darting once more over to him; Altaïr gave the man a singularly unimpressed expression. He would not allow this man to best him in any manner. “Send him to search the city. Determine what Tamir is planning and where he works; preparation makes the victor.”

 

“So I’ve been told,” Alnesr said solemnly. “What can you tell us of Tamir, for a start?”

 

“He makes his living as a merchant, so the souk district would be where you would be best advised to begin your search,” the Rafiq said.

 

“Are Altaïr and I to return once our mission is complete?”

 

“Yes, the Master _has_ requested that you both return once the information has been collected; I will give you the Master’s marker then,” the Rafiq said, seeming confused. “But, why would _you_ leave? You’ve no need to participate in investigations at your rank, Alnesr.”

 

“I know; thank you, brother.”

 

The two of them left the main room of the Bureau and its insolent Rafiq behind, Altaïr looked once more down at the young man – the young _Assassin_ – who had accompanied him on this mission,

 

“Thank you; you’d no need to put yourself forward on my behalf.” Watching as Alnesr’s expression became one of disapproval, Altaïr smiled slightly; it seemed even Alnesr’s politeness and diplomacy had limits.

 

“He should not have been saying such things to you,” Alnesr said, the disapproving expression on his face swiftly becoming something more of a scowl. “Any of our Brotherhood could have made that mistake; we are all, in the end, merely human. Even the greatest of us has flaws.”

 

Even a day before this, Altaïr thought that he would have dismissed Alnesr’s words, or at the very least merely considered them to be the words of a child who had spent too much time with his books. Now, however, Altaïr thought that he truly understood what the Master had meant when he said such things.

 

“So we are,” he said; and, oddly enough, he felt lighter after saying that.

 

As the two of them made their way out of the Bureau and away from its condescending, stultifying Rafiq, Altaïr turned his attention back to their surroundings: there were women chattering by the stalls selling freshly-polished oil lamps, and nearby two men stood, arguing over some matter that Altaïr was too far away to discern.

 

“We should return to the rooftops; it will be a great deal more simple to find the Souk from there,” he said, looking to the building opposite the Bureau they now stood in front of.

 

“Yes, I think that would be best,” Alnesr said, nodding.

 

“After you, then, Master,” he said, smiling gently.

 

Alnesr looked down slightly, his cheeks coloring. “Please don’t tease me, Altaïr.”

 

“Very well, Alnesr.”

 

Once the two of them had made it to the top of the building, Altaïr searched for and almost immediately found the large Souk Al-Silaah in Damascus’ Poor District. From there, according to what the Rafiq had told them, they could begin searching for information on Tamir. Of course, the Rafiq knew more than he had spoken of, but he knew that he was likely as not under orders from the Master not to speak of such things to an Apprentice. Alnesr could have perhaps asked for such information privately, but he had most likely not considered doing such, owing to his own still-recent promotion.

 

Altaïr would not hold such a thing against him.

 


	8. The work of an Apprentice

Leading Alnesr to leap across the space that separated the two of them from the next building over, once he was certain that there were no others who might be watching their progress, Altaïr looked back once to watch Alnesr’s progress, before turning his attention back to the streets below. It would not be such a long time before the two of them would need to descend to street level once more.

 

“Make way!” shouted a man leading a group of guards; guards who were in turn surrounding the driver of an ass, pulling a cart that sagged under the weight of many stacked casks. “Make way! We come with supplies bound for the Vizier’s Palace. His Excellency Abu’l Nuqoud is to throw another of his parties.”

 

Not one of the citizens who had been shoved aside looked entirely pleased, but not one of them dared to question men in the employ of Damascus’ Merchant King. Altaïr had heard of the man in passing; never more than mentions of the extravagant parties that he hosted, however-

 

“Altaïr? Do we not have business in the Souk?”

 

“Indeed we do,” he said, clapping the younger Assassin strongly on his right shoulder. “Let’s be about it, then.”

 

Falling into step with Alnesr as the two of them continued on their way toward the Souk, Altaïr considered just what they were going to do. It was well enough for the two of them to travel together when they had just received their mission – though he was not honestly certain if the Master would have approved of it – but, now that they needed to gather the information to carry it out… the duties of an Assassin’s apprentice were simple and well-defined: they sought the information that their masters needed, while those selfsame masters worked to hone their skills.

 

Now, however, with Alnesr promoted to the rank of full Assassin, and himself acting as the younger man’s Apprentice… well, things had changed a great deal between them. _And yet, at this moment it feels as if nothing has changed at all,_ Altaïr reflected, smiling softly at his own thoughts.

 

“What are you thinking of, Altaïr?” Alnesr’s soft voice came from his left this time, the two of them having changed places during the course of their journey across the rooftops.

 

Making a show of looking his former Apprentice over, Altaïr allowed his smile to widen slightly. “You are a rather small, and unobtrusive presence; very few people take notice of you, unless you go out of your way to draw their attention,” he said, gently pulling Alnesr’s white cowl down father over his silver hair.

 

“I suppose you have that much right, Altaïr,” the younger Assassin said, appearing confused as to just where this conversation of theirs was going.

 

“This is a good thing, so far as one of our Brotherhood is concerned,” he said, his hand on Alnesr’s chin so that his fellow Assassin would not lower his head. “I think it would be best if you dealt with the missions that require stealth, and I will complete those that require that the target come to fear for their lives.”

 

“Yes, I think that would be in both of our interests,” Alnesr said, the smile on his face becoming rather wry. “I would be the first to confess that I am not particularly intimidating.”

 

“Your appearance serves you well enough,” he said, releasing the younger Assassin’s chin so that he could clap him on the right shoulder once more. “Now, let’s be about our work; we shall meet up in the Bureau to share the information that we have both managed to gather.”

 

“Very well; safety and peace, Altaïr.”

 

“On you, as well,” he said, nodding respectfully as Alnesr parted company with him.

 

Taking only a moment to silently wish his former Apprentice good fortune in his endeavors, Altaïr turned his own attention to the task ahead of him. He had been hearing an orator speaking in praise of Tamir’s deeds, hearing him more and more clearly as he and Alnesr had closed in on the city’s poor district, and he thought now that the man could very well be in Tamir’s employ, or at the very least he could know someone who was. Either way, this one would serve as a good enough stepping-stone to further answers along this path that he now walked.

 

As another crowd began to gather around the orator, the man looking them over with hard but interested eyes, Altaïr noticed that the man seemed to be waiting for something. However, as the crowd continued to grow larger, Altaïr realized that the man had only been waiting for enough people to gather around him.

 

“None know Tamir better than I,” he announced boldly, voice carrying over the crowd with the experience of a man who had done such things often; perhaps this endeavor would prove even more fruitful than he had at first thought, Altaïr reflected. “Come close; here the tale I have to tell. Of a merchant prince without peer.”

 

For just a moment, the orator paused, observing the mood of the crowd; gauging their interest. “It was just before Hattin; the Saracens were low on food, and in desperate need of resupply. But there was no relief in sight. In those days, Tamir drove a caravan between Damascus and Jerusalem. But recent business had been poor; it seemed there were none in Jerusalem who wanted what he had: fruits and vegetables from nearby farms. And so Tamir left, riding north and wondering what would become of his wares, for soon they would surely spoil. That should have been the end of this tale, and the poor man’s life; but fate, it seems, intended otherwise.”

 

As he listened to Tamir’s man weaving his tale, Altaïr conceded that the orator did indeed know how to hold a crowd such as this in thrall. _All the better that he is dealt with swiftly, then. The Master says that Tamir is one of those who seeks to continue the Crusades,_ Altaïr reflected, none of his current thoughts showing on his face.

 

“As Tamir drove his caravan north, he came across the Saracen leader and his starving men; most fortunate for them both, each having something the other wanted. Tamir gave the man his food. And when the battle was finished, the Saracen leader saw to it that the merchant was repaid a thousand times. Some say, were it not for Tamir, Salah Al’din’s men would have surely turned on him. It could very well be we won the battle because of that man.”

 

Tamir’s orator finished his speech, pausing for only a moment to observe the reactions of the crowd as it dispersed, a thin smile on his face as he stepped away from the stand and moved toward the market. Perhaps to make for another stand and from there to make the same speech in praise of Tamir and his “great works”. Altaïr followed, keeping to the shadows when he could, and always maintaining a safe distance.

 

He still remembered the Master’s words to him: _put obstacles between yourself and your quarry. Never be found by a backward glance._

 

He could feel the faintest of smiles on his lips as he tailed Tamir’s orator; at the skills he put to use once more to do so, and the opportunity he was provided to shut out the many distractions within Damascus itself as he did so.

 

Up ahead, Altaïr watched in mild disapproval as Tamir’s orator bumped into a woman, causing the vase that she had been carrying to smash into the ground. The woman, clearly angry, began to berate Tamir’s orator, her right hand out to demand payment. Tamir’s orator curled his lip, cruel and sneering as any of the targets that Altaïr had been sent out to deal with. Altaïr tensed for a moment, but when the woman cringed, pulling away and cowering from the displeasure of Tamir’s orator, he allowed himself to relax.

 

He also made a silent promise to deal with Tamir’s orator as soon as possible; to have his terror done with, finally and forever.

 

Pausing for a moment, when Tamir’s orator kicked the shattered pieces of the vase, Altaïr moved again only once Tamir’s orator had taken several steps. The two of them now stood in a narrow, all but deserted lane, dark mud walls seeming to press in on them. Perhaps a shortcut to the next stand that Tamir’s orator would use; whatever this place was, in the end, it would serve his purposes just as well as those of Tamir’s orator.

 

Perhaps better, considering what he planned to do.

 

Glancing back to make certain that he was alone – to be certain that his actions here would not compromise the Brotherhood once more – Altaïr took a few, swift steps forward, grabbed Tamir’s orator by his right shoulder, and jammed the tips of his fingers beneath the man’s ribcage. Instantly, Tamir’s orator was doubled up and gasping for breath, his mouth working like a landed fish. Another glance confirmed to Altaïr that he was truly alone; stepping forward as quickly as he ever had, Altaïr delivered a final kick to the throat of Tamir’s orator.

 

The man fell back in the dirt, his _thwab_ tangled around his legs. Smiling slightly as he watched the man clutched at his throat, Altaïr came to stand over Tamir’s orator… _This was easy,_ he mused, and then frowned. Perhaps this had been too-

 

Tamir’s orator struck like a cobra, kicking up and catching Altaïr square in the chest. Surprised, and grateful for a moment that he had not sent Alnesr on this particular mission – or any like it, for that matter – Altaïr staggered back as Tamir’s orator rose back to his feet. The man had a gleam in his eye, knowing now that he had gained at least _something_ of an advantage in their battle.

 

The man’s fists were up now; clearly he assumed that since he’d managed to gain a single victory, he would be able to win. Altaïr would show this man the error of such thoughts. Dodging one of the man’s swift punches, Altaïr found out too late that such had merely been a feint as Tamir’s orator caught him across the jaw with his other fist.

 

He almost fell, tasting blood and cursing Tamir’s orator; and also himself, for underestimating his opponent. That was something only a foolish Novice would have done; or a fool, but he was trying at least to be less of one than he had been. Shaking the pain from his jaw – pushing it aside so that he could focus – Altaïr came forward and slammed his fist into the man’s temple before he could begin making his escape.

 

For a time, the pair of them traded blows; Tamir’s orator was smaller and faster than Altaïr, and he managed to catch the Assassin with a blow high on the bridge of his nose; Altaïr stumbled back, blinking tears of pain from his eyes. Tamir’s orator seemed confidant of his victory now, a feeling that Altaïr knew he could use to his own advantage. He vowed silently that all of his pain would _not_ be wasted.

 

As Tamir’s orator advanced on him, throwing wild punches in clear anticipation of an easy victory, Altaïr stepped quickly to the right, crouched, and kicked the man’s legs out from under him in what would have almost seemed like a single, smooth motion to anyone who had not been trained as an Assassin. Even having knocked the breath from his adversary, Altaïr had too much experience with the man to count on merely a single blow to keep him at bay.

 

Spinning back toward the supine form of Tamir’s orator as he lay gasping for air on the ground, Altaïr drove his right knee directly into the man’s groin. He was both relieved and gratified to hear the man’s pained sound – almost like a dog’s bark – and to see the way he folded on the ground like an empty sack. Rising back to his full height, shoulders still heaving from his heavy breaths, Altaïr watched calmly as Tamir’s orator continued to struggle voicelessly on the ground.

 

When the man had finally managed to recover enough to take full breaths, Altaïr squatted down to his level and pressed his face in close.

 

“You seem to know quite a bit about Tamir,” he said, using his superior positioning to intimidate Tamir’s orator as he lay in the dust of the alley. “Tell me what he’s planning.”

 

“I know only the stories I tell,” the man groaned; either more pitiful than he looked, or else trying to make himself sound so. “Nothing more.”

 

Altaïr showed only a singularly bland expression on his face; the same that he had always worn when he was about to kill one of his targets, something that would let that target know that they were only one more in a long line of lives that had been ended by his blade. “A pity. There’s no reason to let you live if you’ve nothing to offer in return.”

 

“Wait. Wait!” Tamir’s orator held up a trembling hand. “There _is_ one thing.”

 

“Continue,” he allowed, secretly pleased but outwardly as impassive as ever.

 

“He is preoccupied as of late. He oversees the production of many, many weapons-”

 

“What of it?” he demanded, in no mood to have his time wasted. “They are meant for Salah Al’din’s army. This does not help me, which means it does not help _you_ ,” he reached forward, watching as Tamir’s orator cringed and cowered beneath him.

 

The man broke rather quickly after that. “ _No!_ Stop! Listen. Not Salah Al’din. They’re for _someone else_. The crests these arms bear, they’re different. Unfamiliar. It seems that Tamir supports another… but I know not who.”

 

He nodded, considering; it seemed this task might become more complicated than the Master had implied, at first. “Is that all?”

 

“Yes. _Yes!_ ” Tamir’s orator said, his tone almost pleading. “I’ve told you everything I know!”

 

“Then it’s time for you to rest.” Driving his hidden blade deep into the man’s sternum, Altaïr gently lowered the man’s body to the ground.

 

There was bloody foam on the man’s lips, and as Altaïr gently closed the man’s eyes and moved his body so that it lay behind a line of old, stinking barrels that had been filled with refuse, he nodded slightly to the corpse – likely as not, he had merely worked for coin, rather than having any personal loyalty to the man – and made his way out of the alley. He would need more information before he went to meet with Alnesr back in the Bureau, that much was plain.

 

He did not know just what would be done when the time came for Tamir himself to be dealt with – Alnesr was indeed a full Assassin, but his hands remained unstained with blood – but Altaïr knew that the time to deal with that matter when they had both finished gathering the full information they needed to ensure that Tamir died cleanly.

 

Moving further into the city, Altaïr caught sight of some of the usual rabble of guards abusing a citizen. _More of those who abuse their power,_ he mused, his mouth turning down in disapproval. The people here remembered the Assassins as those who served the cause of justice; those who would take it upon themselves to see that no innocents were abused while they were present and could prevent such things. It fell upon him, therefore, to uphold such a reputation.

 

_~AC1~_

 

Leaving the bench, still contemplating the information that he had gleaned during the time he had been pretending to rest from the heat, Alnesr began to hear the sounds of men speaking to one another. It seemed as if one of them was angry with the other; clearly, that man worked for Tamir. Moving in behind the more timid man – the one who had been intimidated by Tamir’s man – Alnesr paced him in the same way that he had done with so many of his other unwitting informants. Moving in close, just when the man’s attention was distracted by a large knot of people, Alnesr darted his left hand in and out of the man’s pouch as quickly and smoothly as he had seen Altaïr do during their lessons together.

 

Tucking the letter into his robes, taking a moment to ensure that it was as secure as he could manage while walking, Alnesr melted back into the crowds.

 

He wondered for a moment if Altaïr would be proud of his accomplishments, before setting such vain preoccupations aside; even if he _could_ afford to think of such things, they had been and remained unimportant. Even when Altaïr _had_ been his master, Alnesr could not afford to entertain such vanities as to allow himself to be preoccupied with Altaïr’s approval where such minor things were concerned.

 

The sounds of another discussion – more than simply the two people he had heard arguing before – drew Alnesr’s attention, and he moved to observe them. As before, these men were discussing a letter that they were to deliver; this time to Abu’l Nuqoud. Waiting until the man carrying the letter had become distracted, Alnesr moved in and quickly removed the letter from his pouch, melting back into the crowds before the man could take any notice of him.

 

Tucking the second letter that he had stolen into his robes with the other, Alnesr noticed a group of merchants huddled together and talking in low tones.

 

“He’s called another meeting.” Alnesr thought the man was likely speaking about Tamir, and so he moved to stand nearer to them while turning so that he seemed to be watching the flow of the people through the marketplace.

 

“What is it this time? Another warning? Another execution?”

 

“No,” said the first man. “He has work for us to do.”

 

“He’s abandoned the ways of the merchant guild. Does as he pleases now,” the third man grumbled.

 

When they began to speak of another deal – one of the men said that it was the largest ever – Alnesr first thought that he would find out just what it was that Tamir was ultimately planning, and perhaps just why it was that the Master had chosen _him_ of all people to die this day, but the men had soon fallen silent, looking around as if they expected someone unfriendly to be watching them.

 

“It is not safe to speak of such things so openly; Tamir has ears even _we_ know nothing about.”

 

The other merchants agreed quickly, and the three of them dispersed into the crowds without saying another word. Alnesr could at least say that he had learned _something_ from their conversation, even if it was not as much as it could have been. A snatch of overheard conversation drew Alnesr’s attention to a pair of old men – one wearing a turban and one bareheaded – speaking with one another.

 

“I’m telling you, it’s rats,” the one with no turban, gray-bearded and balding, said with annoyance.

 

“No, it’s children!” the man in the turban said, sounding oddly cheerful. “I hear them laughing.”

 

“Rats or children, either way it’s bad for business,” the turbanless, balding man said. “All that noise! Someone needs to get up on those beams and clear them out!”

 

“I wonder how they’re getting up there,” the other man said. “Must be through the central courtyard.”

 

“Then we should ask the guard to take a look!” the graybeard said.

 

The man in the turban made a disparaging noise. “They’re all much too busy polishing the backside of their master.”


	9. Separate but Equal

Moving on, before the people milling around them could take notice of how long he had stopped without buying anything from the various stalls around him, Alnesr began to hear the sounds of a struggle. Pausing for a moment, knowing that it was now his duty to uphold the values that the Assassins were known for just as it was Altaïr’s. However, the fact remained that not many outside the ranks of the Assassins themselves were particularly inclined to look past his appearance – particularly his yellow eyes – when he spoke to them.

 

Still, his own feelings on the matter were not important; there was an innocent being abused by those who felt secure in their power, and it was his duty as an Assassin to help them.

 

Moving forward once more, following the sounds of the woman struggling against a group of the corrupt guards that had been showing up more and more often of late, Alnesr loosened one of his throwing knives – the same ones that the Master had provided for him when he had first attained his present rank – and sent it flying into the bared throat of one of the men. He saw now that they had been accosting a woman, and as he loosed more of his throwing-knives into their throats, Alnesr saw that she was beginning to look in his direction.

 

She knew that he was there, now – knew that he had acted in her defense, and likely as not recognized that his garb marked him as a member of the Brotherhood – and when the last of the men harassing her had fallen dead to the ground, the woman turned to look at him.

 

Alnesr ducked his head slightly, enough so that the woman whose life he had saved would not be able to see his eyes – their color having bought him more than enough trouble outside of Masyaf in the past – and made to turn away and leave before the shouts of ‘beast’ or ‘demon child’ could follow him. The woman called out once, but Alnesr knew that – aside from his personal desire not to be disparaged another time – he had his duty to the Brotherhood to consider as well.

 

He had learned a great deal about Tamir and his habits; it was time that he made his report.

 

 _Or, can I truly call it a report, when I am not strictly reporting my discoveries?_ Alnesr wondered for a moment, even as he made his way back up to the rooftops. It was still an odd thing for him to consider, the fact that he now outranked a man who had been his mentor for as long as he could remember. Odd, and somehow _wrong_ ; he would not and did not wish to begin questioning the dictates of Master Mualim, but he could not help but wonder if another Master and Apprentice pair had had their ranks inverted in the same way that he and Altaïr had had.

 

Sighing, Alnesr put those thoughts out of his mind; they were merely a distraction at this point. _Still, I do not think the Master would think me too insolent if I asked him about this. What it all means; what he intended by this._ His mind made up, Alnesr set his concerns aside for the moment, focusing once more on his ultimate destination. Altaïr awaited him at the Bureau.

 

_~AC1~_

 

Even with the detours that he had made, Altaïr found that he had managed to return to the Bureau just before Alnesr. Stepping to the left as the young Assassin climbed fully down into the building, Altaïr smiled proudly. True, he could not take _all_ of the credit for the prowess that Alnesr had demonstrated this day, but the young man truly _was_ his Apprentice.

 

Or he had been, before today.

 

“Welcome back, Alnesr,” he said. “I trust that your search was fruitful.”

 

“As much as yours, I expect,” Alnesr said, bowing slightly to him.

 

“Well then, shall we speak of what we found?” he asked.

 

“Yes, I think the Rafiq will be pleased to hear of what we discovered.”

 

“Come, then,” he said, gesturing toward the archway that would lead the two of them into the Bureau’s main room. The two of them spoke in low tones; he providing the knowledge that Alnesr lacked, and Alnesr discussing what he had learned as well.

 

“Altaïr! Alnesr! Welcome, welcome!” the Rafiq smirked slightly as the two of them made their way back into the main room.

 

Altaïr wondered, for a handful of moments, whether the man could tell that he had taken a life this day – one more in a long line of them, yes – and Alnesr had not. It was an odd thing to think about at such a time, whether or not the stench of death clung to him at moments such as these, and yet Altaïr found himself wondering all the same. Clearly it was not a thing that upset Alnesr; still, Alnesr had been training for the day that he would take his first life nearly since the day he could walk.

 

It was just as clear that he could not measure the reactions of those uninvolved in the business of death by Alnesr.

 

“Come now, tell me all of what you’ve found out about Tamir,” the Rafiq said, his gaze focused almost entirely on Alnesr. “I’m sure you know a great deal by now, young Assassin.”

 

“Tamir rules over the Souk Al-Silaah,” Alnesr said, his expression becoming pensive for a moment; clearly, he had seen the fearful glances of the merchants, and those who had had the misfortune to find themselves out of the merchant’s good graces. “He makes his fortune selling arms and armor, and is clearly supported in this endeavor by many: blacksmiths, traders, and financiers.”

 

“He’s the largest death dealer in the land,” Altaïr spat, thinking of the many innocents that had doubtless found themselves on the wrong end of the many, many weapons that Tamir sold.

 

“Yes,” Alnesr said, his tone thoughtful.

 

“Well then, have you devised a way to rid us of this blight, Alnesr?”

 

“A meeting is being arranged at Souk Al-Silaah, to discuss an important sale,” Alnesr said. “The merchants say that it is the largest deal that Tamir has ever made; he’ll be distracted with his work then.”

 

“And that is when you shall strike? Excellent!” the Rafiq said, speaking too fast for anyone to get a word in edgewise. “Well then, I will give you Al Mualim’s marker, and you will give us Tamir’s life.”

 

So saying, the Rafiq quickly reached under his desk and produced a feather from one of the Master’s birds; the marker that would be stained with Tamir’s blood once the merchant’s life had been ended. It would also mark the end of what little innocence that Alnesr had managed to preserve considering the nature of his work. Alnesr took the marker without hesitation, but when the two of them had reached the outer room of the Bureau, he saw that Alnesr’s expression had become rather pensive.

 

“Come, we should rest for the night,” he said, gesturing to the  pile of cushions and blankets that would provide them at least _some_ comfort while they took their repose.

 

“Thank you, Altaïr,” Alnesr said, smiling briefly before his attention drifted back to the feather he was almost absently spinning between his fingers.

 

“Alnesr, you’ve never observed me during one of my kills,” he said, drawing the young Assassin’s attention back to him. Alnesr’s hands stilled, his pale yellow eyes fixing on Altaïr’s face.

 

“No; I did not think to do such a thing,” the young Assassin said, looking back down at the feather he held in his hands.

 

“Perhaps, then, you should wait until the next mission, and take care to observe me closely when I make this kill,” he suggested, knowing that – while Alnesr _had_ surpassed him in rank for the moment – his former Apprentice’s hands were as yet unstained with blood.

 

Aside from sentimental concerns, which Altaïr could at least admit to _himself_ that he possessed, he did not know how Alnesr would handle his first kill if he had not been prepared for it beforehand.

 

“You would do that for me, Altaïr?” Alnesr asked, turning earnest, pale yellow eyes back to him from the feather that he had been examining.

 

 

“I think it best that you are more prepared, before you stain your hands for the first time,” he said, smiling so that Alnesr could understand that such was not his _only_ reason. “It is not an easy task, necessary though it may be.”

 

“Thank you, Altaïr,” Alnesr said.

 

Altaïr smiled back in response to the young Assassin. “Get some sleep; we have much to do tomorrow.”

 

“Of course.”

 

The two of them settled down into the nest of cushions, Alnesr’s head coming to rest against the left side of his chest. Looking down at the young Assassin sleeping by his side, Altaïr reflected on the child that Alnesr had been, and the man he was swiftly becoming. He thought that this might have been how his own father felt, if the two of them had known each other as more than fellow Assassins.

 

He also thought it might have been how Master Mualim felt about them all; every Assassin in the Brotherhood.

 

Letting himself drift off into sleep, lulled by Alnesr’s soft breathing, Altaïr reflected for a moment that this next day would truly be the last day that his former Apprentice could be considered in any way a child.


	10. Tamir

When the sun rose, bringing awareness of the world back once more, and hence awareness of the work that they would soon be doing, Alnesr opened his eyes and rose quickly to his feet. Altaïr was, naturally, already awake and preparing the few weapons that he still possessed. The two of them shared a silent breakfast of dates, figs, and dried strips of meat, washed down with water from the skins that had been stored for just that purpose.

 

The two of them left the Bureau after they had given their food time to settle, taking to the rooftops on their way to the Souk; for him, to see his first life taken in the Assassin manner, and for Altaïr to do the deed itself. The feather that he had received from the Rafiq remained tucked into his robes; he had attempted to give it to Altaïr, but his former Master had advised him to keep it, a smile on his face as if he had some other plan in mind.

 

Likely as not, he did.

 

Once they had reached the Souk once more, Alnesr found that there was a great crowd gathering about a sunken, ceremonial courtyard in the center of it. The reason for such a gathering swiftly became clear: a tall, regal-looking man stood there, two stout bodyguards at his back. The man himself wore silks in rich, dark colors, as well as a checked turban, and leg wrappings.

 

His teeth were bared beneath a thin, dark mustache; this could only be Tamir.

 

Altaïr nodded to him, and Alnesr faded into the outside of the crowd, always careful to keep both Tamir and Altaïr himself within his sight. There were traders gathering, some of them with worried expressions and others wearing those of relief, so it became yet more obvious that Tamir for all his power and influence, was not well liked.

 

“If you would just have a look-”

 

“I’ve no interest in your calculations, the numbers change _nothing_ ,” Tamir snapped, cutting off the man cringing before him. “Your men have failed to fill the order, which means that I have failed my client.”

 

The merchant swallowed fearfully, even as Alnesr wondered just who Tamir’s client was. Clearly, this client he spoke of was important in some way. The merchant searched the crowd, and for a moment Alnesr wished that he could help the man; clearly, he merely worked for Tamir out of the need for coin that all but those who had been born to riches were subject to. Still, it was not his place to act in defense of this man, at this time and this place.

 

To act here and now would be to compromise the Brotherhood, and it would likely do no good in any case.

 

“We need more time,” the merchant pleaded; clearly attempting to appeal to a sense of mercy that Tamir entirely lacked.

 

“This is the excuse of a lazy or incompetent man,” Tamir said, his tone rife with insinuations. “Which are you?”

 

“Neither,” the merchant said, wringing his hands in obvious terror.

 

“What I see here says otherwise,” Tamir said, raising his right foot onto a low wall and leaned forward on his knee. He was clearly attempting to appear at ease, something that neither Alnesr nor the merchant before him were foolish enough to trust. “Now, tell me: how do you intend to solve this problem of ours? Those weapons are needed _now_.”

 

“I see no solution,” the merchant stammered, still fearful of what was to come. “The men work day and night, but your… client requires so much. And the destination… it is a difficult route.”

 

“Were it only that you could produce weapons with the same skill as you produce excuses,” Tamir said, laughing; clearly either mocking the old man before him, or attempting to play to the crowd. Possibly both at once.

 

There came a few, scattered laughs; clearly caused chiefly by their fear of Tamir rather than the quality of his humor. The more Alnesr observed the hateful black market merchant, the more he became convinced that the world as a whole would be better off without him. Clearly, Master Mualim’s choice of targets was as wise as he had come to expect.

 

“I have done all I can,” the old merchant insisted; his voice quavered still, and perspiration clearly showed on the headband of his turban.

 

“It is not enough,” Tamir said, still making his vain attempt to appear good-humored.

 

“Then perhaps you ask too much,” the old merchant said.

 

The expression of false good-humor evaporated from Tamir’s face like morning mist. “Too much?” he echoed, something harder and more unpleasant in his voice than what Alnesr had heard before. “I gave you _everything_. Without me, you would still be charming serpents for coin. All I asked in return was that you fill the orders I bring you. And now you say I ask _too much_?”

 

Tamir drew a small dagger, the blade glinting in the sunlight. Those in the crowd shifted in discomfort, while Alnesr drew himself up straighter. Soon, it would be time for this to end. And, futile though it was to wish that it could end sooner, Alnesr found himself doing that very thing for a moment before he remembered himself. It was not for him, to decide who lived and who died.

 

The old merchant had dropped to his knees by now, looking up at Tamir with pleading hands and tearful eyes. Tamir glared down at the old merchant, his expression one of open contempt, then he spat. The old merchant stumbled, blinking phlegm from his eyes.

 

“You _dare_ disrespect me?!” Tamir roared, righting himself from his own stumble.

 

“Peace, Tamir,” the old merchant pleaded. “I meant no insult.”

 

“Then you should have kept your mouth shut,” Tamir snarled.

 

The bloodlust all but glittering in Tamir’s eyes let Alnesr know that the man would not be satisfied with merely leaving things as they stood. Tamir swiped at the old merchant with the dagger he had drawn, opening a rip in the old man’s tunic that swiftly became stained with blood. The old merchant fell back on his heels, uttering a high, keening scream that drove Alnesr’s heart to pounding and made him wish all the more that he could intervene in the injustice he was bearing witness to.

 

“No, stop!” the old merchant screamed.

 

“Stop!” Tamir mocked. “I’m just getting started!”

 

Stepping forward, Tamir drove his dagger deep into the old merchant’s belly, driving him to the ground as the old man screamed and pleaded for mercy.

 

“You came into _my_ souk!” Tamir shouted, driving his dagger into the old merchant as if in further emphasis of his words. “Stood before _my_ men!” Another stab; the old merchant was rolling on the ground now, beyond all help. “And dared to insult _me_?! You! Must! Learn! Your! Place!”

 

Each word was now punctuated with a stab; the old merchant was long dead by that time, and Alnesr bowed his head slightly. He might not have known the man as anything more than a victim of Tamir’s savagery, but it was more than clear by now that the world at large would not miss another man such as Tamir.

 

“No, leave him,” Tamir said breathlessly, waving off the bodyguard who had been about to move the old merchant’s corpse. “Let this be a lesson to the rest of you: think twice before you tell me something cannot be done. Now get back to work.”

 

Tamir and his guards left the old man’s corpse to rot in the street – there was already a dog sniffing at it – and in moments it was as if the old merchant had not existed in the first place. As if he had been forgotten by all but the two Assassins who had borne witness to his last moments. Catching Altaïr’s eye, Alnesr found that his former Master was just as angered by this turn of events as he was.

 

The two of them stole swiftly and silently through the crowds after Tamir, heads bowed so that the people around them would not be able to carelessly glimpse their intent. Tamir’s bodyguards were no longer quite so close that they would be able to easily interfere with the work that he and Altaïr had been sent to do this day, but Tamir was now speaking to one of the traders that worked for him.

 

“I can’t sell _this_ ,” he sneered, scorn in every line of his face. “Melt it down and try again. And if it comes out just as poorly, it’ll be _you_ who gets melted down next.” Eyes wide, the trader nodded frantically. “I don’t understand what it is you do all day. Your stall is filled with goods; it should be your purse that is filled with coin. Why can’t you sell these things? It isn’t difficult.” An ugly, suspicious expression came to Tamir’s face. “Perhaps you are not trying hard enough. Do you require _motivation_?”

 

The trader was nodding before he quite realized just what it was that he was agreeing to, and then shook his head quickly and more emphatically than he had nodded in the first place.

 

_~AC1~_

 

Altaïr could see that Tamir’s bodyguards had become distracted, and more than that they had become complacent faced with the sheer terror that Tamir’s methods of control had spread through the crowd. This… now, this could be the very opportunity that he was searching for. Catching Alnesr’s eye briefly, Altaïr signaled the younger Assassin to move with him, and then made his way closer to Tamir.

 

The merchant’s two bodyguards had chosen to take advantage of the terror that their master spread in his wake – demanding goods as gifts to their wives from yet another stall owner – while Tamir himself moved on to a new victim. Watching Alnesr out of the corner of his left eye, Altaïr slipped smoothly between the merchant and his inattentive bodyguards; he watched, pleased, as his former Apprentice did the same.

 

“You _begged_ me for this position,” Tamir snarled, his back now firmly to the two Assassins. “Swore none could do as well as you, here. I should-”

 

Stepping forward smoothly, Altaïr released his hidden blade, swept his right arm forward to hold the merchant in place, and drove his blade deep. Tamir made a strangled noise deep in his throat, but he did not scream. For a brief moment he writhed, fighting the inevitable before going limp at last. Alnesr crouched next to him, but Altaïr’s attention was mainly focused on the stall-owner that had been one of the only people to bear witness to Tamir’s last moments.

 

The man seemed honestly unsure of what to do; clearly, he had been terrified of what Tamir might do to him – with good reason – and yet for a few long moments he seemed to be honestly considering raising the alarm. However, in the end, the man’s fear of Tamir won out over whatever loyalty he had – perhaps, at one point – felt toward the man.

 

The trader turned his back and left without a word or a look back.

 

“Be at peace,” he said gently, though he doubted this one would appreciate his consideration any more than the others.

 

“You’ll pay for this, Assassin,” Tamir rasped, a line of blood beginning to run from both his mouth and nose. “You and all of your kind.”

 

“It seems you’re the one who pays now, my friend. You’ll not profit from suffering any longer.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alnesr drawing the feather that he had been given by the Rafiq; Altaïr would have smiled, were the situation not so grave. The young Assassin had indeed learned his lessons well.

 

Tamir laughed harshly, his breaths coming more shallowly now. “You think me some petty death dealer, suckling at the breast of war? A strange target, don’t you think? Why me, when so many others do the same?”

 

“You believe yourself different, then?” he asked; all men had reasons for what they did, he had said just the same to Alnesr, during the young Assassin’s lessons.

 

“Oh, but I am, for I serve a far nobler cause than mere profit. Just like my brothers…”

 

“Brothers?” Alnesr echoed, before Altaïr himself could voice that same question.

 

“Ah, did you think I worked alone, little Assassin? I am but a piece; a man with a part to play. You’ll come to know the others soon enough, I think.” For a few moments, Tamir’s eyes seemed to fix on Alnesr. “You have strange eyes, child. Perhaps you, of all your kind, can see deeper…”

 

Tamir passed then, the light fading from behind his eyes. Alnesr’s expression was pensive as he stained the Master’s marker with the merchant’s blood, and it remained so for a few moments more, before the two of them faded back into the crowds of the city and vanished. Tamir’s resting place was far behind them when the cry went up.

 

Returning to the rooftops with Alnesr close behind him, he heard the sounds of alarm bells being rung throughout the city. _Things are becoming rather more complicated now, it seems,_ he mused. Looking to Alnesr, he smiled slightly as he saw the alertness with which the young Assassin was moving; truly, his former Apprentice had learned his lessons well.

 

They had soon reached the Bureau once more, slipping in through the rooftop entrance and landing neatly beside the fountain. Taking a moment to breathe, Altaïr looked to Alnesr as the younger Assassin straightened up once more. His earlier, pensive expression had returned, and Altaïr knew that he was turning Tamir’s last words over in his mind without the younger Assassin needing to speak it aloud.

 

“Sometimes, people must die for the world to change,” he said, reaching out to clasp Alnesr’s right shoulder.

 

“Yes,” Alnesr said, nodding. “Still, I think that Tamir was the first outside of the Brotherhood not to look at my eyes as some cursed sign. And, what he said-”

 

“What he said were the words of a man who knew he was dying, and one who wanted to cause discord and uncertainty among his killers, nothing more,” he said.


	11. Departure and return

Yes, it was clear that the man had had his reasons for the actions that he had taken – all men did, and Altaïr would have been honestly surprised if Tamir had not – but merely having reasons did not, in the end, mean that those reasons were the _right_ ones. As the two of them made their way back into the Bureau’s main room, Altaïr wondered for a moment if Alnesr would tell the truth of what had transpired between them and Tamir.

 

Then, thinking back on how the Rafiq had acted when the two of them had left, Altaïr wondered if the younger Assassin would have the chance to speak at all.

 

“Word has reached me of your victory, Alnesr,” the Rafiq said, his gaze seeming to pass over Altaïr entirely. “You have my gratitude, and my respect. I am certain that your Apprentice has learned a great deal from you.”

 

“Thank you, brother,” Alnesr said.

 

“I am sure that the other Assassins will be just as pleased to hear of your progress, as well,” the Rafiq said; Altaïr could not quite tell if he was mocking Alnesr or not, but he felt rather indignant on the younger Assassin’s behalf, all the same. “You should return, and bring news of your victory to Al Mualim. After you have taken some rest, of course. Taking one’s first life is a tiring thing, I hear.”

 

“Thank you for your hospitality, Rafiq,” Alnesr said, nodding to the man. “It _is_ becoming rather late; I think I will sleep for the night.”

 

“Come, then,” he said, gesturing for the younger Assassin to follow him. “Let’s get settled.”

 

The two of them left the Bureau’s man room, making their way back to the pile of cushions and blankets that had served as their bedding the night before. Alnesr seemed rather pensive again, and Altaïr knew without words just what it was that was troubling the younger Assassin.

 

“I doubt the Rafiq would have been willing to let you speak, even if you _had_ tried,” he said, smiling gently as he rested his hand on Alnesr’s right shoulder. “You’ve no need to concern yourself with my pride. Only remember: the next task will be yours.”

 

“I know, Altaïr. And, thank you,” Alnesr smiled, and Altaïr clapped the younger Assassin strongly on his right shoulder.

 

After that, the two of them settled down into the pile of cushions, each leaning against the other for the small extra comfort that such an action provided.

 

The next morning found him up just before Alnesr, as had always seemed to be the way such things were done; he rather thought that such was the way things would _always_ be between the two of them, but Altaïr was forced to admit to himself that even such a small thing as that could change in the future. When Alnesr rose, and the two of them had finished breaking fast, Altaïr let the younger Assassin proceed him out of the Bureau, and the two of them met up on the rooftops again.

 

Leaving Damascus was somewhat more fraught than entering it had been, owing to the alertness of the guards in the wake of Tamir’s death, but the skills that they had been taught during their respective lifetimes as Assassins proved true once more. Blending with another group of wandering scholars, Altaïr suppressed a satisfied smile as he and Alnesr finally made their way out of Damascus.

 

Their horses were tethered in the same place, both beasts looking well enough for the day that they had spent being tended by those outside of Masyaf. Mounting up beside Alnesr once more, Altaïr finally allowed his smile to show. Alnesr would know what he meant by it.

 

Their return journey was nearly the same as the one that had brought them to Damascus in the first place, and yet it _felt_ different. Still, Altaïr thought that it was simply because he knew what was coming, both when he and Alnesr returned to make their report to Master Mualim, and also once they had been sent out after the second of the nine men that their Master wished them to rid the world of.

 

They stopped in the shade of the same oasis that they had stayed in during their journey to Damascus, feeding and watering both the horses and themselves before bedding down for the night. Rising with the sun, they continued on their way. As the ground passed by beneath them, Altaïr found himself watching Alnesr as closely as he could while attending to the needs of their journey.

 

He also found himself reflecting back on the journey that the two of them had made, from the day that he had first heard Alnesr’s desperate cries in the poor district of Jerusalem. Seeing a child, not even old enough to walk, being dangled by his ankles over a fire pit by a man who had long and loudly denounced his murdered mother as a whore of Shaitan and the child as his spawn, had driven Altaïr to depths of fury that he did not know if he would ever feel again.

 

Alnesr – though the babe had not had any name that Altaïr had known at the time – had been an innocent, and seeing the teachings of Al Mualim and the Assassins mocked so openly, though it had been clear even then that those people in the square had not been of the Brotherhood, had drove Altaïr to take his first life.

 

Smashing every nearby pot that he could lay his hands to into the man’s face had driven him back, far enough from the fire pit that he had been able to grab Alnesr and wrench the babe from the grip of the madman who had meant to kill him. He’d wrapped the babe in his own robes, hushing him briefly before his attention had been forcibly returned to the madman. Master Mualim’s teachings had given him the skill to knock the man to the ground, and a large rock had provided him the means to end the man’s life.

 

When he’d stood over the man, looking down at the bloody ruin that had once been his face, Altaïr’s only thoughts had been for the babe whose life he had redeemed with his actions.

 

That had been how the Master and Abbas had found him: a madman dead by his hand, and a strange babe with pale yellow eyes in his arms.

 

He had been required to give an accounting of his actions, of course; still, when the Master had learned of what he had borne witness to, he had agreed that any true member of the Brotherhood would have acted the same under the circumstances. He had also decreed that, as the one to act in defense of the babe, he was then responsible for the life he had saved. Altaïr had, in fact, been the one to give Alnesr the name that every one of the Brotherhood knew him by.

 

Of course, for the first few years of Alnesr’s life, Altaïr had been almost as much of a nursemaid as the women that the Master had brought in to feed Alnesr. Then, when the boy had grown enough to be able to eat more solid foods, the Master had dismissed the women that had once helped to tend to him, saying that it now fell to Altaïr himself to see that Alnesr was taken care of. When Altaïr had asked after the Master’s purpose, he had said that while taking a life was simple enough considering the work that the Assassins were called upon to do, _redeeming_ one was not simple at all.

 

From that day, Alnesr had become just as much his student as he had been the Master’s.

 

At one point, Abbas had been as close as a brother to him, and so naturally he had fallen into the role of an uncle to Alnesr. The three of them had taken lessons together, and eventually Alnesr’s skill had grown to the point where he had been able to take lessons with them and Labib. Altaïr had been proud, to know that his teachings had been so well received by the boy that he had raised.

 

And now, Alnesr had taken his place among the ranks of the Brotherhood; the boy had become a man.

 

The two of them made their way up to the village under the shadow of Masyaf, and Altaïr saw Alnesr straightening in his saddle as he looked up at the headquarters of the Brotherhood. A hint of uncertainty lingered in the younger Assassin’s expression, but Altaïr knew that such was only natural under the circumstances. There were times that even _he_ did not know just what the Master desired of him.

 

Leaving their horses in the care of the stable hands within the village, Altaïr fell into step beside Alnesr as the two of them made their way back up the mountain to the fortress itself.

 

“I heard that you had both returned,” Rauf said, his eyes practically alight as he greeted the two of them. “Is it true? Has Alnesr truly gained the rank of a full Assassin?”

 

“It is,” Alnesr said, lifting his right hand to display his hidden blade and bracer that he had been given, and also the missing ring finger that all full Assassins possessed.

 

Rauf smiled all the wider. “How proud you must be of him, Altaïr. Will you tell me of your mission after you report to the Master?”

 

“If we are given the time,” he said, when it became clear that Alnesr’s thoughts had returned to what he would say to the Master when they made their report.

 

“Yes, of course,” Rauf said, looking over the both of them once more, smiling in shared pride. “I’ll leave you to your duties. Safety and peace, brothers.”

 

“On you as well, Rauf,” Alnesr said, his attention clearly having returned to the present.

 

“Good fortune in your future missions, Alnesr,” Rauf called, turning and making his way back to the training grounds where he spent much of his time.

 

“Thank you, brother,” Alnesr called back, as he and Altaïr fell into step once more, on their way up to the Master’s study.

 

Making their way through the fortress, he and Alnesr had soon found their way back to the Master’s study. Master Mualim was waiting for them behind his desk, watching their approach with quietly assessing eyes. Retrieving the feather from his robes, Alnesr handed it to the Master when he held out his hand.


	12. Wheel of Fate

“You’ve done very well, Alnesr, considering your youth,” the Master said, inclining his head respectfully.

 

“I thank you for your praise, Master, but it was not I who carried out the task.”

 

“Oh? Then, explain your reasoning for leaving such a thing to your Apprentice, if you will,” the Master prompted; Altaïr looked to Alnesr as the younger Assassin straightened his shoulders.

 

“While it is a simple matter to kill another in the heat of battle, in defense of one’s own life or that of another, deliberately taking a life – in the way of the Brotherhood – is something that I had not yet witnessed, to say nothing of my own inexperience in such matters. I felt it best that I observed the act in person, first,” Alnesr said, his expression the professional mask of an Assassin once more.

 

“I admire your discretion, as well as your candor in telling me this,” the Master said, a small, pleased smile on his face. “Still, I sense that there is something troubling you; speak. You may no longer be an Apprentice, but that does not mean that you are required to find _all_ of your answers on your own.”

 

“Tamir spoke as though there were others who believed as he did; as if he were a part of some greater cause, a brotherhood like our own,” Alnesr said, allowing some of his confusion to show now that the Master had addressed it.

 

“It is entirely possible that he is _not_ the only man who believes that his actions serve a noble cause. You will find, my child, that many men in Tamir’s position believe deeply in the ultimate nobility of their actions, no matter how base they may prove. Still, your task is to remove these men from the world so that their twisted ideals are not permitted to cause suffering to those that they practice them on. This world is not shaped by the ideals of such men, nor should it be,” the Master said, a severe expression on his face. Then he smiled once more. “However, the both of you have performed admirably, and so I will restore a rank to you, Altaïr; you will no longer act as Alnesr’s Apprentice, but merely be under his watch. Take back your short sword, and take some rest; your journey here could not have been an easy one.”

 

“Thank you, Master,” he said, bowing slightly and then turning to leave.

 

“Alnesr, I would speak with you a moment more,” he heard the Master say, even as he turned and left the study.

 

_~AC1~_

 

For a moment, while he had been explaining the facts of the matter to Master Mualim, he had thought that there had been an odd expression on the Master’s face. Still, he’d not seen it again, and was starting to doubt that it had even been there in the first place.

 

“I am pleased to know that your first mission for the Brotherhood was carried out so well,” the Master said. “While you were away, I commissioned the blacksmiths to make you your own short sword, in preparation for your return. You may go and retrieve it now, or after you have rested for the night.”

 

“Thank you for your consideration, and for your faith in me, Master,” he said, bowing his head respectfully once more.

 

“I once said such to Altaïr, child: truly, to watch you having grown from a boy to a man in such a short time fills me with as much sadness as pride,” Master Mualim said, reaching out to set his hand on Alnesr’s right shoulder; he smiled, feeling pleased that the Master held him in such regard. “I am certain that you will do our Brotherhood credit.”

 

“I thank you for your kind words, Master,” he said.

 

“They are not merely words, my child,” the Master said, smiling kindly as he gently lifted Alnesr’s chin. “Still, you should take your rest; you seem wearied by your journey. Come to me in the morning; I would speak with you. Perhaps while we break our fast.”

 

“Oh, of course,” he said, surprised; to his knowledge, no other Assassin had been invited to break their fast with the Master. “Thank you for inviting me.”

 

“Of course, my child. Go and rest now, you’ve had a long journey,” the Master said kindly, clapping his right shoulder in a gentle gesture of dismissal.

 

“As you say, Master,” he said, bowing and turning to leave for his room.

 

Pausing for a moment at the top of the stairs leading up to his room, Alnesr yawned and then swiftly continued on his way. As the Master said, he would retrieve his short sword in the morning; after he had broken his fast with him. Making his way up the stairs to his room once more, Alnesr divested himself of his outer robes, folded them neatly, and set them down on the shelf by his bed.

 

Removing his bracer, he paused for a moment to examine his right hand; the missing ring finger would mark him as one of the Brotherhood to anyone who looked. It also served to remind Alnesr of the commitment that he had made, both to the man who had raised him, and to Master Mualim himself when he had been raised to his current rank. Settling down into his bed with a last look to the bracer on his table, Alnesr closed his eyes and let himself relax into sleep at last.

 

When he awoke the next morning, Alnesr rose and washed as swiftly as he could, before dressing in a new set of robes that had been left for him on a higher shelf by the laundresses that served the fortress. Making his way down the stairs once more, he was met by Master Mualim himself.

 

“Good morning, child,” the Master said, smiling down at him. “I am pleased to see that you came so promptly. Come, follow me; I take my meals alone, but I will make an exception this day.”

 

“Thank you, Master,” he said, falling into step just behind the Master as the two of them made their way down the corridors.

 

The place where the Master took his solitary meals was rather close to his study, which Alnesr supposed made sense, and Alnesr found that their morning meal had already been set out for them. The Master sat down first, and then gestured for Alnesr himself to sit down.

 

“Thank you, Master, for inviting me here,” he said, bowing his head respectfully as he settled down in the chair that had been offered to him.

 

“Of course, my child,” the Master said, smiling kindly at him. “Enjoy this meal, and then we will speak.”

 

“Of course, Master.”

 

_~AC1~_

 

Watching Alnesr as he ate, selecting a great deal of olives, some of his softer cheese, and two slices of flatbread, Al Mualim considered him for a few moments; he wondered what this conversation would reveal. Concentrating on his meal, he finished it swiftly and settled back into his seat as the boy finished the last of his own.

 

“What was it that you wanted to speak to me about, Master?”

 

“Perhaps it is best that I show you,” he said, gesturing for the boy to remain seated, even as he moved to retrieve the small, wooden box that he had stored the Apple inside in preparation for the meal that he and Alnesr had taken together. “I had thought to ask you this before, but things became rather fraught; this, I thought, was the best time that we might speak of such things.”

 

For a moment, it looked as if Alnesr was about to speak, but when Al Mualim set the box down on the table the boy fell silent. The child’s gaze was locked on the box, his pale yellow eyes so deeply intent that Al Mualim knew that Alnesr was one of those who would have a place in the new world that he was working to create. After a moment, Alnesr seemed to remember himself, drawing back in his seat and sitting up straight; his eyes, however, continued to flicker towards the Apple that he had not yet truly glimpsed.

 

It was as if, even when the Treasure was out of his sight, it still had a hold on his mind.

 

“This is what I wanted to speak with you about, child,” he said, making his voice gentle so that he would not startle the boy overmuch. “This, the treasure that the Templars were attempting to claim, is called a Piece of Eden.” He lifted it free from the box at last, noting the way Alnesr’s eyes immediately locked onto it; the way everything else in the room seemed to pass out of his awareness.

 

Alnesr slid out of his seat, the normally smooth motions of an Assassin of his rank lost in the face of his clear eagerness – his _need_ – to be closer to the Apple. Moving to stand before the boy, Al Mualim held out the Apple and watched as the boy reached out to touch it. Once Alnesr’s hand had made contact with the surface of the Apple, Al Mualim saw solid lines of light – appearing almost solid enough to touch, though he knew that they were simply one of the Apple’s illusions and nothing more – reach out to the boy and seemingly curl around him.

 

The strangest sight of all, however, was what happened to the boy’s pale yellow eyes: as the light from the Apple reached out to him, his eyes were obscured by a white glow. The glow spread quickly, from his pupils to the edges of both of his eyes. It was only then, once Alnesr’s eyes were completely overshadowed by the shifting light of the Apple, that Al Mualim began to realize that this was not the full extent of Alnesr’s connection to the Apple.  


It felt as though he were reaching into the child’s very mind, riding down the strings of light that the Apple appeared to project; but, more than that, it felt as if Alnesr’s mind was somehow… not entirely in his own body anymore. It was an odd thing to think, but it did not seem to be any less true for all of that. Reaching deeper with the aid of the Apple, Al Mualim found that he could indeed begin to feel the lingering connection that the boy’s mind had with his body.

 

It was not nearly so strong as he suspected it had once been; he was also beginning to realize that even _this_ was not the full extent of Alnesr’s connection to the Apple.

 

Al Mualim was beginning to realize that, should he so wish, he could rip Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr’s mind free from its moorings and hold it within the Apple for as long as he so chose. Still, he was also becoming aware that to do so would be to leave the child’s body as little more than an empty, broken doll. Such was not something he could afford at this time; not with Altaïr still awake and aware, and not so long as his former associates remained among the living.

 

Still, this new discovery that he had made was a rather important one; he now knew just what it was that made Alnesr so different from every other man that had encountered the Apple in the past.

 

Laying his right hand atop Alnesr’s right, Al Mualim let his own mind reach down the links that bound Alnesr’s mind to the Apple; from there, he loosened them, drawing all of the links save one back into the Apple itself. That one, he left so that he would be able to more easily bring Alnesr into the light, once the final member of the Nine Templars had been dealt with. The child’s eyes had cleared some, as he had pulled the links from his mind, and now they simply appeared to reflect the lines of light that had once been projected from the Apple itself.

 

A moment’s concentration on the remaining link allowed him to suppress it deep enough that Alnesr’s eyes cleared, and the boy blinked in surprise.

 


	13. Masters and students

“Master?”

 

“It is nothing against you, child,” he said, withdrawing the Apple and moving to set it back within the box. “All men who set their eyes on this Treasure find themselves drawn to it.” Still, it was clear that Alnesr had been drawn far deeper than any other man that Al Mualim had yet met.

 

“It is not that,” the boy said, looking around the room in confusion. “I was seated at the table, when you showed me the Treasure.”

 

Alnesr said nothing more, but the confusion on his face spoke volumes. _So, he truly remembers nothing of what transpired between us._ It seemed an odd thing, but the more he thought on it, the more he realized that it was not so odd at all. The Apple had held the child’s mind fast, binding it ever deeper within itself when Alnesr had been within its light; it was only to be expected that the child would not remember such a thing.

 

“Pay it no mind, my child,” Al Mualim said, making his voice soft and kind. “The Treasure exerts a pull over all men. You are no different.” It was one more falsehood in a long line of them, yes, but what he said next was no falsehood at all. “You’d best go fetch your short sword; you and Altaïr have a great deal of work yet to do.”

 

“Yes,” Alnesr said absently, his gaze taking in the room a last time – settling for a few, long moments on the box holding the Apple – before turning his full attention to Al Mualim. “Yes, Master.”

 

Bowing respectfully once more, Alnesr turned and left the room swiftly.

 

_~AC1~_

 

Even though the Master had taken time to reassure him, Alnesr was still troubled by the fact that he could not remember standing up from his seat when Master Mualim had shown him the Templar treasure; or the Piece of Eden, as he had been told that it was called. He had been taught to pay attention to his surroundings at all times; to know that he had lapsed in that so completely was troubling. Even though he had been more perfectly safe within the Master’s quarters than in almost any other place in the fortress that he might have found himself, the thought that he might have been forgetting the lessons that Altaïr had taught him was a troubling one.

 

Still, there were few enough things that he could do about that, aside from making a personal vow that he would pay more attention from this day on.

 

Making his way back down the stairs, Alnesr hurried his steps as he made his way deeper into the fortress’ lower levels. It was as Master Mualim had said: he and Altaïr did indeed have a great deal of work left to do. Leaving the fortress behind, Alnesr made his way down to the forges; speaking briefly to some of the smiths there, he quickly found himself holding the short sword that the Master had ordered to be forged for his use.

 

Thanking the smiths, Alnesr turned and made his way back to the fortress. From there, he would be able to meet up with Altaïr and the two of them could get underway. It was not so long as he thought it would be, before Alnesr found himself catching up to the man who had been his Master not so long ago; the man who he would always think of as his mentor.

 

“I see you’ve taken up _your_ short blade, as well,” Altaïr said, smiling softly as the two of them fell into step with one another.

 

“Yes,” he said, nodding slightly as he looked down upon the weapon that had been made for him at the Master’s order.

 

“Well, seeing that I am no longer your Apprentice, perhaps you would like my help in honing your skills with that blade; I’ll not discount the value of Labib’s lessons, but a great deal of time has passed since then.”

 

“Yes,” he said, smiling slightly at the thought of being able to train under the watchful eyes of his mentor once more; acting as Altaïr’s Master, even for so short a time, had been an odd enough experience that Alnesr wished never to repeat it. In time, he would take his own Apprentice, but to be forced into the role for one who had been his Master was entirely too unnerving. “I think I would like that.”

 

“I think Rauf would be particularly pleased if we were to assist him in training his students,” Altaïr said, smiling softly.

 

Alnesr chuckled. “Yes, I think he would.”

 

The two of them turned their steps toward the training ground, where Rauf and his students awaited them, and Alnesr began to loosen the muscles of his shoulders the way that Altaïr had taught him to do while the two of them had been working as Master and Apprentice. Once the two of them had made it there, Rauf greeted them cordially, and the two of them spent a great deal of time sparring with the wooden training swords that Rauf had provided for them. Rauf’s students seemed purely enthralled to watch as he and Altaïr sparred each other; he did not know if that was because they had never seen Assassins of his and Altaïr’s rank sparring before, or if they were simply excited for the extra attention.

 

Alnesr could not ever remember being that way as a child, but his childhood had been rather different than any of the other children in Masyaf.

 

Once Altaïr had been satisfied that his memory of Labib’s teachings had not faded so much with time, the two of them left the sparring ring. Rauf asked them if they had the time to speak to him about their mission and how it had gone, as well as the matter of his own promotion to full Assassin. Altaïr said that he would see what the Master desired of them, and Alnesr agreed.

 

Their time was not truly their own when the Master had need of them; such held true for all Assassins.

 

They made their way back into the main building of the fortress, he slightly behind Altaïr in a gesture of deference that he did not know if he would ever feel comfortable abandoning, and back up to Master Mualim’s study. The Master himself was, naturally, standing behind his desk when they arrived.

 

“It is good to see that the two of you came so promptly,” Master Mualim said, gently stern gaze taking in both him and Altaïr. “The next of your targets is a man named Garnier de Naplouse. You will find him in Acre.”

 

“Of course, Master,” Altaïr said, while he simply bowed silently; he was still slightly troubled by the way his own mind had seemed to betray him in the presence of the Treasure.

 

“Alnesr, I expect that you will continue your efforts to see that Altaïr continues improving in his adherence to our ways,” the Master said.

 

“Of course, Master,” he acknowledged; it was a strange thing to think, that he would still be called on to account for Altaïr’s actions even though the two of them had now attained the same rank.

 

Still, it was what the Master had requested of him, and so Alnesr would endeavor to do as Master Mualim wished.

 

Leaving the Master’s study for the last time this day, he followed Altaïr down to the stables where they chose a new pair of horses and set off on their journey to Acre.

 

He could never quite remember just how many days the journey to Acre took; the days of travel seemed to blur into one another – the unchanging routine of waking, riding, and then sleeping once more serving to lull him into a half-apathetic sort of daze – but soon enough they had arrived at the city. A large crowd milled outside the city, more of them seeming to be leaving than entering. It fit with what Altaïr had told him of his last mission to Acre, just before he had been officially instated as the older Assassin’s Apprentice: the Master had assigned him to stop the Templars from poisoning the city’s water supply.

 

Naturally, Altaïr had done so, but the Crusaders had still managed to take the city; and even now, Acre and its people bore the scars of war.


	14. Into Acre

They made their way into the city as silently as ever, this time going _over_ the heads of the guards at the gate, rather than passing under their eyes amidst a group of scholars. Truly, Alnesr did not know if there even _were_ scholars about in Acre; it was not a place that he was particularly familiar with. Altaïr nodded to him, and the two of them made their way across the rooftops and deeper into the city; Altaïr seemed to know just where it was, and so Alnesr elected to trust him.

 

He soon saw the familiar shape of an Assassin Bureau, and smiled softly; it seemed, as ever, that his trust had been rewarded. Finding himself thinking of the one time it had not, Alnesr cast aside those thoughts almost reflexively. Now was not the time for such idle musings.

 

When the two of them had at last reached the roof of the Bureau, he was the one who climbed in before Altaïr. Stepping down into the room, Alnesr moved back enough to allow Altaïr more space to lower himself down as well. Altaïr’s gentle smile, as he clapped Alnesr on his right shoulder, made him feel warm and contented inside, and prompted a smile of his own in return.

 

As the two of them made their way into the Bureau’s main room, he saw that this Bureau’s Rafiq had a genuinely kind look in his eyes. It was a welcome change from the false friendliness that the Rafiq in Damascus had offered.

 

“Ah, Altaïr, Alnesr; a little bird told me that you would be paying a visit,” the Rafiq said, seeming amused at his wordplay. When he opened his hands, setting the pigeon that he had been cooing at free, the bird alighted on the countertop between them, puffing out its chest and marching to and fro. “So, who is the unfortunate that Al Mualim has chosen to be your first mark, Alnesr?”

 

“The Master has ordered the execution of Garnier de Naplouse,” he said, wondering for a moment just who the man was and what he had done.

 

“The Grand Master of the Knights Hospitalier?”

 

“If that is his position in the city; the Master gave me only a name to seek him out,” he said.

 

“Do you intend to take care of the investigations within the city?” the Rafiq asked.

 

“I will take care of that,” Altaïr said, before he could say anything. Altaïr then turned toward him, a restrained sort of pride on his face. “Stay here and hone your skills, Alnesr. I will deliver the information you lack.”

 

“Thank you, Altaïr,” he said, feeling humbled at the generosity he had been offered; it was not long ago that _he_ would have been charged with seeking out that selfsame information on Altaïr’s behalf.

 

Truly, these circumstances were the strangest that he had ever dealt with.

 

With a last nod to him and the Rafiq, Altaïr left the Bureau through the same roof-access that the two of them had used on their way in. Alnesr, left alone with the Rafiq, wondered for a moment just what it was that Altaïr did with _his_ time while he was alone at the Bureau.

 

“Oh, I meant to tell you this before,” the Rafiq said, bringing out a small box and setting it down on the counter between them. “The Master had these sent to me, once it was determined that you and Altaïr would be traveling here.”

 

The Rafiq opened the box, revealing the set of five sharp, gleaming throwing knives that had been placed inside it.

 

“I would thank the Master for his generosity, were he here,” he said, bowing slightly in thanks to the Rafiq as he removed the knives from the case that they had been delivered in and sheathed them in the previously empty holsters that had been added to his belt.

 

“I will be sure to send him your regards,” the Rafiq said, smiling kindly. “For now, I think that you should hone your skills with those knives. Would you like me to show you where you may, or do you know the way?”

 

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “While it _is_ true that I have accompanied Altaïr to many Bureaus just like this one, I confess that I have no knowledge of such a place.”

 

“Come, then; I will show you the way. Come, come.”

 

Falling into step with the Rafiq as he came out from behind the counter, Alnesr found himself being lead to a room opposite the one that he and Altaïr had entered from. A room that seemed to run the full length of the Bureau itself.

 

“We might not have the full facilities of Masyaf, but you will at least have the opportunity to gain _some_ skill with those new weapons of yours.”

 

“Thank you, Rafiq,” he said, as the man nodded to him and left the room.

 

There were four targets on the far wall, as well as four lines painted on the floor; clearly, one was meant to start at the line closest to the targets, and then move closer over the course of their training. Moving to stand just behind the closest of the four lines, Alnesr stood at the center of the four targets and drew his knives. Time he began his own work.


	15. The mad doctor

As he had gathered the information that Alnesr would need when he dealt with the man that Master Mualim had chosen as the first to die by Alnesr’s hands – the man who would be the one of the sole witnesses to the boy’s loss of his last bit of innocence – Altaïr found himself seething more and more with a slow-burning rage. It seemed that the man, Grand Master of the Knights Hospitalier and hence one that should have been _helping_ the people of this wounded city, was doing nothing of the sort. He had heard reports of people being turned away from the Hospitalier fortress, and of others who disappeared into it.

 

He had also heard reports of a scandal that had driven the man from Tyre, and fears that such a thing would be repeated in Acre. He had also read a scroll, taken from an associate of Naplouse, clearly stating that the man _had_ no intentions at all of curing his alleged patients. Supplied with unfortunates captured from Jerusalem, he had been conducting tests aimed at inducing certain states in his patients; all in the name of some unknown master. Tamir – his target from Damascus – had been working to procure weapons for the operation that Garnier seemed to also be a part of.

 

One particular phrase in the letter had drawn his attention above even that, however: _we should endeavor to reclaim what has been stolen from us._ He was still puzzled as to what it could possibly mean, but as he still had other information to gather, Altaïr had continued his investigation. To hear the people speak, Garnier allowed “madmen” to wander the hospital almost at whim; though Altaïr did not know if those men were truly mad, or if they were a product of the experiments that Garnier was said to conduct.

 

He had also learned that, when the archers covering the walkways above the hospital were dismissed from their posts, Garnier himself would take time to make the rounds of his hospital without a bodyguard. Only monks were allowed passage at those times, but such was the reason that the Assassins had chosen the garb that they wore; Alnesr would be given the perfect opportunity to strike.

 

With all of the information that he had gathered on behalf of the younger Assassin, Altaïr knew that it was best that he returned to the Bureau to present it.

 

Alnesr and Jabal would be waiting for him, and he could at least admit to himself that he was becoming weary of this day’s activities and wished to rest from them. Crossing the rooftops on his way back to the Bureau, Altaïr was careful to avoid the notice of the archers placed upon them. He’d no desire for a cry to go up, after all that he had done to conceal his presence from those who called Acre their home.

 

Coming within sight of the rooftop entrance, Altaïr allowed himself a small, contented smile as he climbed back down into the building.

 

“Altaïr, it’s good to see you again,” Alnesr said, rising from the table where he had clearly been taking his meal.

 

“How has your training been progressing?” he asked, settling down at the table so that he could partake of some of the food that Alnesr had laid out for the both of them.

 

“As well as can be expected without a sparring partner,” Alnesr said, seeming to contemplate the fig in his hands for a few moments before beginning to eat once more. Swallowing a last time, Alnesr turned a shyly pleased smile back to him. “The Master sent me my first set of throwing knives earlier.”

 

Altaïr smiled, feeling another swell of pride in the younger Assassin. “It is good to see how well you have progressed in your training.”

 

“Thank you, Altaïr. It means a great deal to me, hearing you say that.”

 

They fell silent after that, finishing their meal and taking a few moments to let their food settle, before he proceeded Alnesr back into the main room of the Bureau and stood before Jabal.

 

“Welcome back, Altaïr,” the Rafiq said, nodding and smiling. “Have you gathered the information you sought?”

 

“Indeed; I have determined both when and how the task would best be carried out,” he said.

 

“Share your knowledge with us, then.”

 

“Garnier lives and works within his Order’s hospital,” he said, feeling again the swell of anger at the man for the abuse of power that he had heard tell of from all quarters of the city. “Rumors speak of atrocities committed within its walls.”

 

“What is the plan that you have formed, then?” Jabal asked, folding his arms and shifting slightly behind the counter.

 

“Garnier keeps mainly to his quarters inside the hospital, though he leaves occasionally to inspect the patients. When he makes his rounds, he does so without a bodyguard. That would be the ideal time to strike.”

 

“You’ve clearly given thought to this, Altaïr,” Jabal said, smiling. “Well, what do _you_ say to this, Alnesr? You’ve been rather silent on the matter.”

 

“Thank you, Altaïr, for your diligence and consideration,” Alnesr said, smiling up at him.

 

“Well then, I will give you leave to go, Alnesr,” Jabal said, smiling as he handed over yet another feather. “Though, I _would_ advise that you take some rest first; it has been a rather long day.”

 

“Yes, I think I will do that,” Alnesr said, turning and making for the pile of blankets and cushions on the far side of the entrance room.

 

Altaïr followed just behind him, and soon enough the two of them had settled down to sleep once more.

 

The next day, as the two of them ate a light breakfast, Altaïr noticed a sort of tenseness that lingered around Alnesr; he knew why that was, as it had been just the same way with him when _he_ had been called upon to take _his_ first life.

 

“Be at peace, Alnesr,” he said, reaching out to lay a comforting hand on the younger Assassin’s right shoulder. “I am certain that your actions today will bring credit to both the Brotherhood, and to yourself.”

 

“Thank you, Altaïr,” Alnesr said, smiling softly as he finished the last of his meal. “It means a great deal to me, hearing you say that.”

 

He squeezed the younger Assassin’s shoulder a last time, before the two of them rose from their seats and made their way up and out of the Bureau so that they could be about their final business in this city. So that Garnier de Naplouse could be dealt with at last.

 

Crossing the rooftops as their journey continued, Altaïr took a moment to observe Alnesr in motion; the younger Assassin’s technique was clearly improving, though not many who watched him would see the added refinement to his movements that Altaïr was able to notice. Not many observed the younger Assassin so closely as he did; not many had taught him nearly since birth. Turning his thoughts back to their current mission after his moment of admitted self-indulgence, Altaïr signaled for Alnesr to follow him.

 

Turning their path toward the Hospitalier fortress, Altaïr began searching for the building he had found to be a good place to insert themselves into a group of scholars before they ventured inside the fortress. Finding it, he signaled to Alnesr and the two of them ducked out of sight of the archer patrolling the walkways above the fortress. Turning to take in the position of the sun, Altaïr knew that they had come at just the time.

 

Smiling to himself as the man moved to a ladder and let himself down, Altaïr signaled Alnesr forward and the two of them moved low and fast across the walkway, until they came to a point where they could see without being seen in turn. Peering down into the courtyard, Altaïr found to his surprise that it was rather a plain affair: sheer-walled in forbidding, dull gray stone, with only a well at its center.

 

Certainly a far cry from the ornately decorated buildings that were usually found in Acre.

 

There were also several guards, wearing the black, quilted surcoats of the Knights Hospitalier, as well as a group of monks. Moving randomly among the serene-looking monks and the severe-looking Knights, were small groups of shirtless, barefoot men. Poor wretches, who wandered dazedly about, their expressions blank and their eyes glazed.

 

Frowning slightly, Altaïr studied the courtyard further; there seemed to be no way to drop inside without being seen. Beckoning Alnesr forward, Altaïr moved to the entrance wall of the hospital so that he and Alnesr would be able to see into the street. On sun-washed stone, the ill and injured gathered, begging the guards to be allowed inside. Others, whose minds seemed to be gone, wandered among the throng shouting gibberish and obscenities.

 

Altaïr gritted his teeth; the city would be much improved after Garnier was dead, clearly.

 

He was pleased, however, to see the group of scholars moving through the crowd as if it was not even there; they seemed somehow removed from the tumult around them. It also looked as though they were making for the hospital, as well.

 

“Come.”

 

“Yes, Altaïr,” Alnesr said, nodding sharply.

 

The two of them made their way back to the ground, moving in the inattentive moments of the crowd and joining the group of scholars. Matching their pace and adapting their movements, he and Alnesr were able to vanish into the crowd. Risking a surreptitious glance at their surroundings at odd moments, Altaïr found that they were indeed making their way into the hospital; the guards that would have stopped an Assassin at the door stepped neatly aside for the scholars.

 

Altaïr wrinkled his nose at the scents inside the hospital; where the city outside had held the scents of baking, perfumes, and spices, this place reeked of human misery. From somewhere else, muffled by a pair of closed doors, there came a series of pained cries and a low, lingering moan; that would be the main hospital, Altaïr mused.

 

The doors were suddenly flung open, and a patient came running out, a look of mad terror on his face. “No! Help, help me! Help me, please! You _must_ help me!”

 

A guard came charging out after him; the man had a lazy eye, as though the muscles in his eyelid had been damaged some time in the past. He was swiftly followed by another guard, this one healthy; together, the two of them beat on the man until he had collapsed to his knees on the stone. Altaïr, watching this from within the group of scholars, felt his jaw clench.

 

Being forced to merely stand and _watch_ as this injustice was perpetuated was infuriating.

 

“Mercy,” the man howled, even as blows continued to rain down upon him. “I beg of you, no more…”

 

The man’s pleas trailed off, as the doors to the hospital swung open once more, and a man who could only be Garnier de Naplouse walked in. He was shorter than the image that Altaïr had formed of him from the Master’s description; beardless, with close-cropped white hair, sunken eyes, and an unsmiling, downturned mouth that gave him the look of a corpse. He wore the white crosses of the Hospitalier on his arms, and a crucifix around his neck, but he did not seem to be a particularly pious sort.

 

For he also wore an apron that had been soaked with the blood of many men.

 

Naplouse turned his eyes onto the struggling man, held as he was by Lazy Eye and the other guard; Lazy eye raising a fist with clear anticipation.

 

“Enough, my child,” Naplouse rebuked, a disapproving expression on his face. “I asked you to retrieve the patient, not kill him.” Naplouse smiled, though even then there was something in his eyes that Altaïr did not like. “There, there. Everything will be all right. Give me your hand.”

 

“No… no…” the crazy man moaned, sounding for a moment more like a dying animal than a man. “Don’t touch me… not again…”

 

Naplouse seemed to appear hurt by the man’s reaction, or he would have if Altaïr had not been able to see his eyes; those remained as hard and remote as ever. “Cast out this fear, else I cannot help you.”

 

“Help me? Like you helped the others? You took their _souls_! I saw. I _saw_. But not mine. No; you’ll not get mine. Never! Never… never. Not mine…” the man continued, repeating those two words with a regularity and lack of inflection that Altaïr found unnerving even in spite of all his training.

 

The last of the false friendship vanished from Naplouse’s face as though it had never been. “Take hold of yourself,” the man said sharply, after delivering what looked like a harsh slap to the man he was tormenting. “Do you think this gives me pleasure? Do you think I _want_ to hurt you? But you leave me no choice…”

 

With a surge of strength that had carried many men through times of desperation, the man pulled free from the guards and tried to lose himself in the gathered crowd. Altaïr doubted that anything would come of the attempt, and so he tried not to feel anything for the man. “Every kind word, matched by the back of his hand!” the man screeched, and Altaïr ducked his head as the man passed close to him. “Nothing but lies and deception! He’ll not be content until all bow before him!”

 

Lazy Eye caught up to the man, dragging him back toward Naplouse; the expression on the Grand Master’s face once again matched the hardness that had always been in his eyes. “You should not have done that.” Naplouse turned his attention to Lazy Eye once more. “Return him to his quarters. I’ll be along once I’ve tended to the others.”

 

“You can’t keep me here!” the sickly man declared, sounding almost proud for a moment. “I’ll escape again!”

 

“No, you won’t,” Naplouse said calmly, turning back to Lazy Eye. “Break his legs; both of them.”

 

Lazy Eye grinned, even as Altaïr felt a hand on his wrist. Looking over to see who it was, he found Alnesr standing at his right side once more. The two of them had separated slightly when they had joined the group of scholars; having had to take care not to appear as outsiders _there_ , of all places; but here and now it was safe for them to be seen together, as long as they did not act to reveal themselves.

 

Alnesr bared his teeth, pale yellow eyes narrowing at the sound of bones shattering, one at a time; a sound like cloth-wrapped sticks being snapped. Moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the younger Assassin, Altaïr watched as those pale yellow eyes came to focus on him again. Nodding, in lieu of voicing the thoughts that he could not under the circumstances, he saw Alnesr’s expression clear once more.


	16. Garnier de Naplouse

It had helped, to be reminded of their true objective in this time and place: they were _not_ merely watching while an innocent was tormented. Their aim – _his_ aim, in this instance – was to rid the world of his tormentor, so that this man and all those like him would never need suffer this way again.

 

However, as the cloying, false sympathy returned to the Grand Master’s face, Alnesr found that his fury was no less than it had  been. He could simply control it more firmly.

 

“I am so sorry, child.” At those words, Alnesr snarled silently. “Have you people nothing _better_ to do?”

 

This, the Grand Master directed at the monks and wandering patients that had paused to watch the gruesome spectacle. For a moment, even as the group dispersed and he moved to follow Altaïr and the group of scholars that had concealed their entrance, Alnesr was not quite certain who he hated more: Garnier de Naplouse himself, or those who had simply stood by and allowed him to do as he pleased with the ones whose lives he so carelessly destroyed.

 

Turning his thoughts again from those matters – it would not do to lose his composure in _this_ of all places – Alnesr followed the scholars into another door. Forcing himself not to gag, as the stench behind this door was even more horrible than that which he had been confronted by when he and Altaïr had first entered this blighted place. Passing by many beds, some of them with wooden cages, and all of them filled with the moaning wretches that he had seen in the main room of this place.

 

Alnesr, making a concerted effort to close his ears to what he was hearing, coldly furious about what he had seen and was continuing to see, saw an opening to finally have done with Naplouse once and for all.

 

Extending his hidden-blade, Alnesr rammed it into Naplouse’s body, finally ending the terror that the man had inflicted on so many citizens of Acre; innocents or not, _no one_ deserved to be subjected to this kind of torture.

 

“Your work is done,” he said, trying in spite of all that he had seen to hold himself to the standards that the Assassins maintained; he would not disgrace himself by showing undue emotion. No matter how much he wished to sneer at this man. “Rest now.

 

“All of my good works, and I’m to die at the hand of a child?” Naplouse seemed more bemused than displeased, and Alnesr found himself clenching his teeth briefly, before he forced himself to relax once more.

 

“I would hardly say that your works are _good_ ,” he said coldly.

 

“Oh, child,” Naplouse said, obviously attempting to sound kind. Given all that Alnesr had seen while he had been making his way through this place, he was not willing to accept such false sentiment. “These men and women were mad, before I rescued them from the prisons of their own minds.”

 

“So you _claim_ ,” he said, feeling the cold fury that had been building within him ever since he had seen the atrocities that this man had committed on those who were supposed to be in his care growing ever colder.

 

“It is not merely a claim, my child-”

 

“Do _not_ call me that,” he snapped; it was unseemly, and yet Alnesr found that he could not fully manage to master himself after hearing Naplouse speak.

 

Hearing the way he tried to justify the depravities that Alnesr had borne witness to, while he had been tracking the man back to where he laired, Alnesr found himself forced to breathe deeply in the manner that Altaïr had taught him for those few times when he found himself overwhelmed by fury.

 

“Oh, my boy. What would your father say, if he could see what you have become?”

 

“My _father_ stands behind me even now, and he would _never_ have performed such base acts as you,” Alnesr all but spat, his eyes narrowed in disgust for the man dying at his feet.

 

Altaïr’s hand on his right shoulder drew his attention back to the task that he had been appointed, and what remained before he could truly call it complete. Crouching by the side of Naplouse, Alnesr stained the feather that he had been given with the man’s blood, foul as it so clearly was, and then allowed Altaïr to gently steer him back out into the courtyard. Together, they blended back into the crowd of scholars as they made their way back out of the nightmarish place that disguised itself as a hospital.

 

Soon enough, however, a cry went up from within the building; Altaïr gently squeezed his right shoulder, and Alnesr nodded subtly to indicate that he understood.

 

The two of them were soon out of sight of Acre’s citizens, and he and Altaïr swiftly scaled the side of the building they had once stood in the shadows of. Standing atop the roof, Alnesr found that, no matter how he tried, could not yet manage to excise the fury – cold as any Assassin’s – that he still felt in the face of all that he had seen within Naplouse’s chamber of horrors.

 

“We will speak more of this at the Bureau,” Altaïr said, his expression stern but for the gentleness that Alnesr saw in his eyes.

 

“Thank you, Altaïr,” he said, nodding as he fell into step with the elder Assassin as they made their way across the rooftops once more.

 

He could hear the ringing of Acre’s alarm as it was raised, but the two of them moved – swift and silent – over the rooftops on their way back to Acre’s Assassin Bureau, Alnesr found that he was not so concerned with the city guards finding them. He did not think that it was recklessness – not in a situation such as this – merely confidence that, whatever new situation he and Altaïr might have found themselves facing, they would be able to see it long before they were forced to confront it head-on.

 

Or else, they would be able to evade it long before it became a concern to either of them.

 

Once the two of them had passed into more familiar territory, Alnesr paused for only half a moment to banish the last scraps of cold fury that had nearly consumed him when he had beheld the suffering caused by the first of his targets. Naplouse was dead; those who had been held in the madman’s thrall would now be able to return to their lives without fear of having them stolen away once more.

 

He could comfort himself with that thought, now that he had the time to think on other things aside from the task that he had been sent out to accomplish.

 

Breathing more easily now that they had come within sight of the Bureau’s rooftop entrance once more, Alnesr followed Altaïr as the older Assassin made his way back down into the outer room of the building. Climbing back down the wall just as Altaïr had stepped down from the fountain, Alnesr let himself breathe fully and deeply once more. As he did so, he felt the subtle tension that he had been carrying with him throughout their return journey slowly ebb away.

 

He made no attempts to hold onto it; this was safe ground that he stood on now, he could afford to relax here, of all places.

 

Altaïr’s arm around his shoulder’s brought a smile of fondness and a feeling of relief to him, and as he looked up into his mentor’s face, Alnesr found his own expression mirrored on the older man’s.


	17. An end to horrors

It was a strange thing, Altaïr mused, seeing Alnesr smile at the true death of his innocence. Still, Altaïr reflected, for the Assassins innocence was something more akin to a chrysalis: merely a phase that they passed through. A phase that was always meant to end. Perhaps this was what the Master had been speaking of, when he had said that seeing Altaïr’s own growth from boy to man in such a short time had filled him with pride and sadness both.

 

He’d been the one to see Alnesr taking his first, halting steps out of babyhood, helped to guide the boy’s feet as he made his way through childhood, and now to see him stand as a man and a fellow Assassin… Altaïr did indeed feel both sadness and pride at this moment.

 

As the two of them made their way into the main room of the Bureau, Altaïr found himself turning over what he had seen within the hospital where Garnier de Naplouse performed his butcher’s work. Some of the poor wretches in that hospital had actually seemed _grateful_ for the horrors that Garnier had inflicted on them; it was not a thing that he would have believed possible, were it not for what he had seen this day with his own eyes.

 

Were it not for what he had heard some of those wretches saying.

 

He rather doubted that Alnesr had seen the same things as he had, or else he had ignored them in his focus on dealing with Garnier. Alnesr had not been exposed to such suffering as had been present within Garnier’s poor excuse for a hospital; Altaïr had seen the cold, stoic rage upon the younger Assassin’s face as the two of them moved through the crowds of wretches, guards, and attendants.

 

He was honestly unsurprised by Alnesr’s reaction, considering the way that the younger Assassin had been raised and trained.

 

As the two of them made their way over to the counter that the Rafiq stood behind, Altaïr hung back so as to allow Alnesr to make his own report first.

 

“Garnier de Naplouse is dead,” the younger Assassin reported, smoothly handing over the feather that had been marked with the man’s blood.

 

“Well done, then,” the Rafiq said, taking the feather. “I’m certain the Master will be pleased with your work, young Assassin.”

 

“There was something odd, however,” he said, drawing the attention of the Rafiq and Alnesr both.

 

“What was it that _you_ saw, Altaïr?” Alnesr asked, before the Rafiq could say anything about the matter.

 

“I only wonder what Garnier wanted from these people, that he would keep them and experiment on them as he did,” he said, folding his arms in contemplation.

 

“It is not yours to ask, Altaïr, but to _act_ ,” the Rafiq said sternly. “As Alnesr has. It does not matter what the man _wanted_ , only that he is dead.”

 

“Garnier seemed to believe that he was helping those people,” he mused aloud; he suspected that the Rafiq would not be particularly amenable to speaking about this matter.

 

“That was not what I saw, Altaïr,” Alnesr said, narrowing his eyes as he tilted his head slightly in thought. “We did not stand in place of healing, but one of pain and suffering.”

 

“Your brother has the right of it, Altaïr,” the Rafiq said, nodding to Alnesr. “Now, I would suggest that the two of you take some rest. You’ll have a long journey to Masyaf ahead of you. The Master will want news of your success, Alnesr.”

 

“Yes, I expect he will,” Alnesr said, nodding.

 

As the two of them made their way into the sleeping area, Altaïr gently resting his right hand atop Alnesr’s left shoulder, he felt himself steadily becoming more relaxed. He did not fight the sensation, as there was no pressing reason for him to maintain the peak of his awareness as he had outside these walls. Still, there might be other matters that needed settling.

 

“Does something still trouble you, Alnesr?”

 

“No; Naplouse needed to be removed from the world, and now those people who he was holding will be able to return to their homes. To the lives that he attempted to steal from them.”

 

“What you said to Garnier – that you thought of me as a father – do you still mean it?”

 

“You have been my family for as long as I could properly form memories,” Alnesr said, smiling softly; fondly. “Did you think that I would forget that so quickly?”

 

He chuckled softly, acknowledging the younger Assassin’s words. “It is not truly our way, but, all the same, I have come to think of you as a son, as well.” He glanced away, slightly over Alnesr’s right shoulder. “I do not truly know if the Master would approve of such a thing, however.”

 

“Perhaps we should not tell him, then,” Alnesr said, sounding slightly uncertain.

 

Looking down, feeling Alnesr’s right hand settled atop his own, Altaïr smiled softly. “Perhaps not.”

 

The two of them settled down among the cushions after that, Alnesr’s right hand still touching his own. Closing his eyes, just after Alnesr had closed his own, Altaïr breathed out and finally allowed the last of the tension that had been keeping him awake to ebb away.

 

The next morning, Altaïr opened his eyes and waited for Alnesr to do the same. It took only a few moments for Alnesr to awaken, his pale yellow eyes clearing quickly.

 

“Good morning, Altaïr,” the younger Assassin said, getting to his feet even as Altaïr himself did the same.

 

“To you, as well,” he said, smiling gently as the two of them made their way over to the low table that sat close enough to the cushions to serve them, but far enough that they would not strike the table with their limbs if either of them was to shift in their sleep.

 

Breaking their fast with raisins and dried figs, Altaïr reflected on their changed circumstances. They had not changed in any way that could be seen, but there was a confidence – a surety – to Alnesr’s stance; the way he sat, the way he held his head, and the look in his eyes, all told of it. It was a rather pleasing sight; to know that Alnesr now held the same rank as him, and that the two of them could now truly stand as equals.

 

When the two of them had finished their small meal, Altaïr allowed Alnesr to proceed him out of the Bureau, and the two of them began to make their way across the rooftops. Soon enough, they had returned to the gates of Acre once more; and, blending with a group of citizens on their way out of the city, the pair of them had soon left Acre behind.


	18. Departing again

Mounting his horse, and pausing a moment as Alnesr did the same, Altaïr began the first stage of their journey back to Masyaf. They rode for most of the first day, stopping only to sleep but eating while they rode, and then swiftly returning to their journey. Days passed in a comfortable routine, which was quite a contrast to their time in Acre dealing with Garnier.

 

Soon enough, they came within sight of the great fortress-city, and Altaïr felt the last of the tension that he had been carrying with him ebb away. He and Alnesr now tread upon safe ground; no matter what challenges the world beyond these walls held for them, Masyaf stood as a haven and a place of rest.

 

Returning the horses to their stable, Altaïr once more allowed Alnesr to proceed him. This was his triumph, more than anyone else’s. The young man had indeed become an Assassin.

 

As he tailed the younger Assassin, Altaïr found that he could see that the new confidence that he had seen that morning in Acre had not merely been something transient. He could see it in the set of Alnesr’s shoulders, the surety of his stride as the younger Assassin proceeded him up the steps of the Master’s tower. As the two of them entered the Master’s library, making their way through the room to stand before the Master himself, Altaïr found it more difficult than before to hold back the curiosity that had been gnawing at his mind.

 

“I am pleased to see that the two of you returned to me safely,” the Master said, a welcoming smile on his face, “Alnesr, have you completed your mission?”

 

“Garnier de Naplouse is dead by my hand, as you ordered, Master.”

 

“Well done, then,” Master Mualim said, nodding. “We could not have hoped for a more agreeable outcome.”

 

“There is something I would have clarified, if you do not mind, Master,” he said, drawing the attention of both the Master and Alnesr himself.

 

“Speak of it then, Altaïr.”

 

“Garnier claimed that his work was noble, and looking back, some of those in his keeping, many of them in fact, seemed to be grateful to him. But enough to make me wonder; how was it that he managed to turn enemy into friend?”

 

“Leaders will always find ways to make others obey them, Altaïr,” the Master said, with a soft, knowing chuckle. “That is what makes them leaders. When words fail, they turn to coin. When even that won’t do, they resort to baser things: bribes, threats, and other types of trickery. There are plants, herbs from distant lands, that can cause a man to take leave of his senses. So great are the pleasures they bring, that men may even become enslaved by them.”


	19. One man’s truth

“Are you saying that Naplouse was drugging those men?” Alnesr demanded, the cold fury that Altaïr had seen on his face while they had been hunting for Garnier making a swift return. “That he was _poisoning_ them?”

 

“Yes, if things were indeed as Altaïr described them,” the Master said.

 

“Best he died when he did, then,” Alnesr spat.

 

“Indeed so, my child,” the Master said, resting his right hand atop the younger Assassin’s right shoulder. “Still, there are men who have accused _me_ of doing the same. They say that there is a garden, overflowing with women and pleasure; that I drug you as Garnier did his men, and tempt you with its rewards.”

 

“They do not know the truth of us,” Altaïr said, not entirely certain if he was disappointed by the credulousness of those who lived outside the Brotherhood’s walls and knew nothing of their Creed, or else simply pitied them their ignorance.

 

“Which is how it must be,” the Master said; Altaïr was not at all sure if _he_ could believe such, however.

 

“But if they knew the truth, that all we seek is peace-”

 

“Then they would not fear us, and we would have no hold over them,” the Master said.

 

“Perhaps _some_ of them could come to know more of our truth,” Alnesr said, speaking for the first time in several moments.

 

“Yes,” the Master said, with a soft, knowing smile. “Those who choose to dedicate themselves to our cause are the only ones who can be permitted to learn the full truth of our work. But it is late, and the two of you must be weary from your journey. Go and take some rest; I will call for you in the morning to inform you of the next mission that you will be undertaking.”

 

“As you say, Master,” Alnesr stated, with a nod more akin to a subtle bow.

 

“Thank you for your understanding, Master,” Altaïr said, bowing to Master Mualim in turn.

 

The two of them turned to leave, and Altaïr clapped Alnesr on his left shoulder, earning a smile from the younger Assassin as the two of them made their way out into the corridors once more. Stifling a yawn, as he and Alnesr separated to make their way to their respective rooms, Altaïr turned to take one last look over his shoulder at the young Assassin who had once, not so long ago, been his own apprentice.

 

Altaïr could admit, if only to himself, that he continued to take pride in Alnesr’s skills; he had laid the foundation that the young Assassin was building on, after all.

 

_~AC1~_

 

Once the fortress had settled down for the night, and all of the Assassins within it – save for those night guards who were set to watch the walls – were asleep, Rashid ad-Din Sinan made his way through the halls of the Assassins’ fortress. He had put aside Rashid for so long, that walking as himself was almost strange to him. Still, there were matters he wanted to address; matters far more pressing to Rashid than Al Mualim.

 

Standing at the threshold of his library, Rashid concentrated on the remaining thread of the Apple’s power that he had buried within the Assassin Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr’s mind. Pulling gently at the thread, drawing the young Assassin closer, Rashid reflected for a moment on the new things that he had learned about Alnesr.

 

It was, in a way, a sad thing that he had not found out what the young Assassin truly was _before_ the child had truly had a chance to dedicate himself to the cause of the Assassins and their Brotherhood. Still, Rashid accepted that even if he _had_ possessed the knowledge, such would have been useless to him without the Apple to enable him to act on it.

 

When the young Assassin came to him at last, half-closed eyes reflecting the tracery of white light within the Apple itself, Rashid smiled as he reached out to cup the child’s chin for a few moments before gently guiding him deeper into his library. A curious thought came to him then, and Rashid released his grasp – gentle as it had been – on the child’s right shoulder.

 

Diverting slightly more of his attention to guiding Alnesr through the Apple, Rashid found that it was as simple a matter to guide the child using his thoughts as it had been his hand.

 

It was a good thing to remember, but as the young Assassin still had tasks to perform – tasks that not only required the use of his mind and senses, but also called for the child to be rested – Rashid commanded him back to his room. Half-closing his eyes as he traced the thread that stretched between the Apple and the young Assassin that he guided, Rashid found that he was able to guide the child’s steps just as easily through the Apple as he would have with his hands.

 

Settling the boy back down in his bed, Rashid once more retracted all of the threads but one; pressing that thread ever deeper into the young Assassin’s mind until he could only just reach it through the Apple.

 

Looking back to the Apple, sitting so placid and innocuous in his right hand – the only sign of the link that he still possessed to Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr’s mind a subtle, pulsing glow that was almost too faint for sight – Rashid contemplated it.

 

“So, yet another of your mysteries is revealed,” he stated softly.


	20. Hunting again

When he awakened, sitting up in his bed, Alnesr had the oddest feeling of disconnection for a few moments. As if he was, somehow, not entirely himself in those moments. The feeling swiftly passed as he regained his full faculties and awareness, and so Alnesr disregarded it. Waking from dreams, even if one could not remember them, always seemed to be rather an odd thing.

 

Changing out of his sleeping-clothes, he swiftly dressed in another set of Assassin robes and armed himself for the day; the Master had implied that they would be given a new target, and he would not disgrace himself and the training that he had received from Altaïr by coming in unprepared for such a thing.

 

Meeting up with Altaïr himself as the two of them continued on their way through the corridors to the Master’s tower, Alnesr returned the smile that the elder Assassin gave him.

 

“You’ve had a restful night?”

 

“Yes,” he said, debating for a moment whether to tell Altaïr about the oddness that he had experienced when he had awakened in the morning. He did not want Altaïr himself to worry about something that was probably nothing, but he had always trusted the man; even before he had become the elder Assassin’s apprentice, when the traitor Haras had held him at sword-point and threatened his life in an attempt to force Altaïr to surrender. “I think that I had an odd dream; I awakened with a strange feeling of displacement.”

 

“Oh?” the elder Assassin turned back to him, even as the two of them continued on their way up through the corridors to the Master’s tower. “Your dreams have been troubling you?”

 

“I suppose; if I could remember them, I would be able to speak more clearly,” he said, as they came up and into the Master’s tower.

 

“That you could,” Altaïr said, and Alnesr saw him nod.

 

The two of them came into the Master’s study as last, finding him standing behind his desk. When the Master’s gaze fell upon them, he smiled.

 

“I trust that you both have had a restful night?” Master Mualim said; Alnesr nodded, and saw Altaïr doing the same. He would not trouble the Master with his own uncertainties; it was enough that Altaïr knew. “Good. Your next mission will bring you to Jerusalem; there is a man there named Talal, he will be your next target.” The Master smiled. “I think you will find that the Rafiq there has a great deal to offer you both.”

 

“As you say, Master,” he said, offering a short bow to Master Mualim even as he contemplated just what the Master could have meant by what he had said.

 

He and Altaïr fell into step with each other, making their way down from the Master’s tower and – eventually – out of the citadel itself.

 

“Do you know what the Master could have meant, when he chose to call our attention to this Rafiq? Of all others?”

 

“The Master’s ways can be rather enigmatic,” Altaïr said, sounding about as contemplative as Alnesr felt. “And, I must admit, I do not fully understand why he chose to say such a thing _now_ of all times.”

 

Sighing, Alnesr chuckled softly. “You have always seemed to know more than me; I’d hoped it would hold true now as it has in the past.”

 

Altaïr laughed. “I’ve come to accept that not even _I_ fully understand the Master when he chooses to be enigmatic.”

 

There was really nothing more to say after that, and so the two of them continued on their way down to the stables in relative silence. Choosing a pair of freshly tacked-and-saddled horses, he and Altaïr rode side by side down the mountain and away from the citadel. They passed untroubled through the gates of the fortress, and into the village beyond. Soon enough, they had gone beyond even that.

 

Their journey took them through other cities – cities whose names Alnesr had never quite been able to recall after he had passed through them – and at times they stopped, either to rest, to eat, or on rare occasions to aid a struggling citizen of one of the small cities or large towns that they passed through. Soon enough, however, they arrived before the gates of the great city of Jerusalem.

 

Dismounting from his horse, even as he saw Altaïr doing the same, Alnesr surveyed the large crowd of people entering the city. He did not know how many of them were pilgrims, but there were other matters – far more pressing – than his own curiosity at this moment.

 

“Come,” Altaïr said softly. “We should find our way inside.”

 

“Yes, of course.” Nodding, he fell into step with Altaïr as the two of them made their way forward.

 

The guards at the gate were of the same sort as the ones in Acre, or Damascus before them, but in this case there was no convenient crowd of scholars to disguise their entrance into the city. And so, with Altaïr proceeding him, though the two of them now held the same rank, Alnesr made his way up the side of a weathered-looking wooden structure that his mind was too preoccupied to recall the name of, and swiftly followed Altaïr across several beams, and finally into the city proper.

 

Right over the heads of those who had been assigned to guard it.


	21. Journey in Jerusalem

Once the two of them stood back on solid ground once again, Alnesr took note of a man speaking the praises of another man; Talal was the one he spoke of, in fact.

 

“We should move,” Altaïr said, a gentle hand atop his left shoulder. “Observe the lay of the city, Alnesr. Things will become clearer after that.”

 

“Of course,” he said, nodding.

 

Moving out of sight of the large crowd milling about the square, Alnesr began calmly to scale the side of a large building. Once he had made it to the top, he looked out over the vast expanse of the city, laid out before and below him like the most detailed of paintings. He’d not been to this city before, and even though he _had_ been dispatched with a mission, this place was fascinating all the same.

 

Performing a leap of faith once he had managed to locate a suitable hay pile, Alnesr brushed the remaining hay free from his robes and hurried to meet with Altaïr.

 

“I see that you are enjoying your newfound freedom,” Altaïr said, a subtle smile on his face.

 

“Yes,” he said, smiling reflectively. “It was not so long ago that I was all but confined to the grounds of Masyaf. Being free of them now… I… I must admit that I _do_ enjoy the feeling.”

 

“I had almost forgotten,” Altaïr muttered, as the two of them continued on their way through Jerusalem’s front square. “Your appearance would _not_ have served to mask your presence within the crowds; if anything, it would have done the exact opposite.”

 

“Yes; that is what the Master said to me, as well,” Alnesr nodded, allowing Altaïr himself to set their pace through the city, carefully keeping his head tilted just so; eyes out of the line of sight of anyone who might glance their way. “That was why I was restricted to missions solely carried out within the fortress or the village surrounding it. Master Mualim suggested that, if they were to some to know me more for my good deeds than for my appearance, they would come to accept me for who I am all the sooner.”

 

“The Master had the right of it, I expect,” Altaïr said, smiling slightly.

 

“He did, at that.” Alnesr smiled himself, then became reflective once more. “Still, there are days that I wish I could do the same in the other cities we operate in; but that would take a lifetime.”

 

“Perhaps; but in the end, that is all we ever have,” Altaïr said, still smiling. Then, as they came back to the square where the man whose voice he had heard when they first came into the city, the elder Assassin became serious once more. “The Master ordered us to deal with Talal; this seems an opportune time to begin learning of him.”

 

Looking from the orator to Altaïr, Alnesr tilted his head slightly; there _was_ merit to what the elder Assassin had said, however… “Should we not speak to the Rafiq before we begin our investigation?”

 

“I would agree with you, Alnesr, were it not for the man who stands before us even now,” Altaïr countered, motioning to the orator with a tilt of his head.

 

“I suppose you have the right of it; we’ve no way of knowing how long this man will be standing here; how long we would be able to find him as quickly as we did now,” Alnesr said, accepting the logic of Altaïr’s statement even as the two of them fell into step with one another again. “Do you wish for my aid in this, Altaïr, or shall I simply watch for guards?”

 

“If you would not be averse to it,” Altaïr’s gaze fixed on his face for a long moment, and Alnesr thought that he could guess what the elder Assassin was thinking.

 

“No; you have the right of it, again.” Stifling a sigh, he conceded.

 

Allowing Altaïr to take the lead as the two of them moved forward to confront the man who had been offering Talal such high praise, Alnesr clasped his hands in front of his chest and lowered his head slightly, making himself appear as pious as possible; cultivating the illusion of being a young scholar in the company of his master. They closed in on the man with slow, easy strides; not giving him any reason to think that they were anything more than what they appeared to be.

 

That was the way of the Brotherhood: to blend with the citizens to such a degree that they could all but vanish into any crowd almost on a whim.

 

Raising his eyes slightly, Alnesr saw that he and Altaïr were almost upon the man. That was both a good thing and rather unsettling at the same time; good because they would soon have this task behind them and thus would be able to make their presence known to the Rafiq, and rather unsettling because – for all the time that he had been given to become accustomed to the way that those outside of the Brotherhood reacted to his appearance – he was not particularly pleased to have such a thing brought up.

 

Following Talal’s man until he had passed safely out of sight of the milling citizens in Jerusalem’s main plaza, Alnesr saw Altaïr nod subtly to him.

 

Raising his head, Alnesr straightened his stance and attempted to make himself as imposing as his relatively short stature would allow.

 

Cornering the man at last, Alnesr moved aside; Altaïr would not appreciate being distracted at such critical moments, and as the elder Assassin had not asked for his aid in _combat_ , Alnesr would not insult him by forcing him to accept such.

 

Keeping pace with Altaïr as he continued his efforts to subdue Talal’s man, Alnesr watched carefully. When it seemed as though the man was attempting to disengage from battle, most likely so that he could gather more of Talal’s men, Alnesr turned his eyes on the man. His face was as professionally blank as any other Assassin’s would have been under the same circumstances, but Talal’s man reacted just as any of those outside of the Brotherhood had done.

 

The man recoiled, and Altaïr bore down on him with renewed vigor.

 

Once the battle had concluded, with Talal’s man subdued enough that he was willing to talk – with the condition that Alnesr himself stayed away – Alnesr stood back enough not to trouble Talal’s man as Altaïr interrogated and then disposed of him. Stepping carefully over the corpse, Alnesr closed ranks with Altaïr once more.

 

“Did he know anything of import?” he asked, as the two of them made their way back into the main plaza of Jerusalem’s rich district.

 

“The man spoke of preparing the men for a journey; that those men taken by Talal would be sent to Acre, after being gathered in Talal’s warehouse.”

 

His eyes narrowed, as Alnesr felt once more the cold fury that had taken him when he had borne witness to the pitiful conditions of those under Naplouse’s ill-named care. “Well enough that Naplouse is dealt with; no more of those taken will suffer under him. Was there more?”

 

“He knew nothing more; not even the location of the warehouse he spoke of.” Altaïr’s expression became more pensive. “I suppose we will have to find that out on our own.”

 

He smiled softly. “Yes, that sounds right.”

 

“Let’s be about it, then,” Altaïr said, his tone as calm as it had ever been, but the expression on his face was one of subtle amusement.

 

“Shall we report to the Rafiq now?” he asked, turning a slight smile on the elder Assassin.

 

“Perhaps,” Altaïr said, clearly seeing the humor of what they were doing.

 

As the two of them made it back out into the main plaza at last, blending with the crowd as they had trained to do during the course of their training as members of the Brotherhood, Alnesr allowed his eyes to roam the thronging crowds. There were merchants attempting to make sales, scholars making their rounds, and even in the rich district of the city, some beggars still wandered the streets. It was one more city that they needed to liberate from the grasp of those who would abuse its citizens.

 

He and Altaïr separated for a short time, both of them seeking their own vantage points from which to relearn the layout of the city once more, in Altaïr’s case, or to see it for the first time in his own. Looking out over the city, spread beneath him, Alnesr allowed himself only a moment to take in the full scope of it. Then, he turned his attention back to the lay of the city.

 

Leaping from the peak of the tower that he had climbed, Alnesr landed easily within the pile of hay he had picked out. Rising, once he had determined that there was no one close enough to observe what he was doing, Alnesr moved back into the crowds, blending with them in the guise of a simple scholar once more. Keeping to his falsely-pious stance, Alnesr subtly scanned the milling citizens for a familiar presence.

 

Soon enough, he’d managed to find the elder Assassin once more.

 

Altaïr nodded subtly to him by way of greeting, and the two of them continued on their way into the city. Though he was not going to ask about such, he wondered if they would be waylaid by another one of Talal’s men. True, they would have a great deal more to report to the Rafiq of this city than they would otherwise have, but Master Mualim _had_ ordered them to report to the Rafiq when they entered the city.

 

As the two of them proceeded further into the city, moving slowly and deliberately as all scholars did, Alnesr continued his efforts at covertly observing the citizens around them. The people here seemed to be rather happy – save for the beggars, but that was only to be expected – but as this was the rich district, that appeared only natural. Every city’s rich seemed to be pleased with their lot; it was the poor that sought to change the way the world worked. And, often the poor who were a source of recruits and informers for the Brotherhood.

 

It was as the Master and Altaïr had told him: they and the citizens _were_ two parts of a whole, all working together for the cause of peace.

 

Altaïr gently nudged him, and Alnesr looked more closely at the two guards standing in front of the mosque. Clearly, Altaïr had a thought about what they might be able to learn in such a place, but just as clearly this was not a place to discus such a thing. When Altaïr began to subtly steer him away from the mosque’s entrance, Alnesr realized that, while the two of them were quite capable of passing as a scholar and his apprentice in the eyes of the milling crowds – whose gazes would simply pass over them – the guards at the door would be apt to study them more closely.

 

And a disguise that relied on the inattentiveness of those around them would not serve them at all when they were confronted by guards; Altaïr had the right of it again: they would _not_ be able to do this on their own.

 

Passing once more through the milling crowds, Alnesr fell back into step with Altaïr as the two of them searched out a group of scholars that they could blend into for cover. He wasn’t quite certain how to feel about what they were doing, since on the one hand they _were_ gathering useful information so that their report to this city’s Rafiq would be more complete, but on the other Master Mualim had ordered them to seek out the Rafiq when they entered the city. Not when they had enough information to consider it worth their while to make such a report.

 

Still, this was hardly a time for discussing such matters; he would make it a point to speak to Altaïr after this task, if it seemed that he was looking to make another excursion rather than making his way to the Bureau.

 

Following in Altaïr’s wake as the elder Assassin made his way through the milling crowds, Alnesr made a point of searching out a group of scholars that the two of them could join, even as he saw Altaïr doing the same. True, the elder Assassin _had_ been the one to suggest such a thing, but as the two of them were working together, he would carry his own weight in this task. He could do no less, in this as in anything.

 

After Altaïr had provided aid to a scholar who had been confronted by the city’s guard, those who were tasked with guarding the citizens, they were able to take shelter from unfriendly eyes amid their ranks. The guards, at least, were _meant_ to aid in the protection of those who could not defend themselves. However, what Alnesr had seen of them did not give him much cause for confidence.

 

Pulling his hood down slightly farther, enough so that he could further obscure his eyes without occluding his vision, Alnesr continued on. While it was true that he and Altaïr had both acted in the defense of the scholar who had then persuaded his fellows to conceal them from whoever might turn their gaze onto them, the fact remained that the color of his eyes was not looked upon with favor. Truly, he did not know if it ever would be.

 

Lowering his head slightly, both to appear more pious in the eyes of those who would inevitably be observing them, and to further obscure his eyes from scrutiny, Alnesr consciously matched his movements to those of the scholars around them. They had soon come back into sight of the mosque that Altaïr had wished for them to investigate.

 

As they and the scholars made their way inside at last, Alnesr scanned the inside of the mosque for somewhere where he and Altaïr would be able to safely observe the comings and goings of those within this place; a location where they could observe without being observed in turn.

 

Soon enough, they had found a suitable bench from which to observe the interior of the mosque and had both settled down upon it to observe the comings and goings of those inside.

 

“He’s a coward!” a heavyset man of just below average height shouted, breaking the relative silence within the mosque. “If it wasn’t for the money, I’d be long gone!”

 

“You are either stupid or blind,” the taller man, the one that he was speaking to, said calmly; though his tone carried an undercurrent of warning in addition to his words. “Perhaps it is both.”

 

“How can you say that?!”

 

“You didn’t see what happened.”

 

“I saw well enough!” the heavyset man exclaimed. “Our caravan was attacked, and the first thing he did was flee!”

 

“No, he did not run,” the taller man said firmly.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“Did you forget what became of the men who attacked us?”

 

“Felled by our archers, thanks be to God,” the heavyset man snapped.

 

“Not _our_ archers, him,” the taller man said firmly. “ _Alone_.”

 

“You’re saying _he_ saved us?” the heavyset man demanded, clearly startled by what he had been hearing.

 

“Yes, he headed for higher ground, and used his bow to kill them.”

 

“I,” the heavyset man stammered, his gaze shifting uncertainly. “I had no idea.”

 

“The man’s a master archer,” the tall man said firmly. “You would do well to remember that.”

 

_~AC1~_

 

Catching Alnesr’s gaze, he nodded to the younger Assassin as the two of them rose from their seats and blended into the crowd of scholars. True, the Master had ordered them to report to the Rafiq in Jerusalem before they began their investigations, and it was also true that the Rafiq would most likely dispatch them to go on more such errands when they finally did report to him, but the simple fact was that he had seen an opportunity to gather information from Talal’s associates in this city.

 

Associates who they could have very easily lost in the crowds had they not taken the time to track these men; he would explain as much to the Rafiq when they met him, and he would take whatever rebuke he was offered for his conduct.

 

“Do you feel that he have enough information to at least make a preliminary report to the Rafiq?” Alnesr asked, after the two of them had cautiously made their way out of the mosque where they had overlooked the meeting between two of Talal’s associates.

 

He bit back a smile at the gently teasing tone of the younger Assassin’s voice; it seemed that his former Apprentice’s confidence was growing the longer the two of them spent outside of Masyaf. “Yes; I think we should have enough now. Best we make our way to the Bureau.”


	22. Meeting with Malik

Alnesr nodded once, and the two of them made their way back into the crowds milling outside the mosque. The two of them both melted into the crowd, hearing the cries of shopkeepers telling of their wares, citizens haggling for a better price, and above them all the haranguing of the crowds by one of the many men who spoke out against the Crusaders. Altaïr, for his part, paid the man little mind as he searched for a vantagepoint from which to observe the lay of the city once more.

 

Once he had found such, leaving the corpse of a too-curious archer inside a shadowed alcove where he would not be discovered quickly, Altaïr leaped down into a nearby haystack once he had seen the last of the nearby citizens moving away from it.

 

Melting back into the crowds, he searched for Alnesr. However, the younger Assassin was the one to find him, this time; his former Apprentice’s pale yellow eyes were the feature that he came to notice first.

 

“It is good to see you again, Alnesr,” he said softly, once the momentary attention of the crowd had drifted away from them once more. “Would you tell me of what you saw?”

 

“Of course, Altaïr,” the younger Assassin said, subtly pulling his hood lower as the two of them continued on their way.

 

Speaking of the city, Altaïr smiled slightly as he heard Alnesr’s clear pleasure in being outside of Masyaf. It was not entirely seemly for an Assassin, but considering the younger Assassin’s appearance and the fact that he had been all but confined to the grounds of Masyaf and the village that the fortress overlooked by that selfsame thing, Altaïr felt that he could understand his former Apprentice’s feelings in this matter. Seeing the world with the eyes of one that had been forced to hide from that very thing for so long, particularly due to something that was entirely beyond one’s control… yes, Altaïr felt that he could fully understand such a feeling.

 

Having been reminded of the Bureau’s location, and taking a moment to allow Alnesr to regain his composure after that minor lapse – he would have rebuked another Assassin in the same situation, but Alnesr’s circumstances were as unique as the younger Assassin’s appearance and so at least _some_ allowances had to be made – Altaïr signaled to him and the two of them made their way into a more sparsely populated area of the city.

 

After making certain that the eyes of the crowds were no longer upon them, Altaïr proceeded Alnesr up the side of the building and onto the rooftops. The two of them moved over the rooftops quickly and with surety, and soon enough they had come to the rooftop-entrance of the Assassin Bureau in Jerusalem. Leading Alnesr into the main area of the building where the two of them would take their repose while they stayed in the city, Altaïr stopped in his tracks when he laid eyes upon the Rafiq that he and Alnesr were to make their reports to.

 

He’d not expected to be made to confront the mistakes that he had made so early, but there was no way to avoid it at this point.

 

For the first time, Alnesr was the first one to speak, while Altaïr himself could say nothing. “Malik?”

 

“It’s good to see _you_ again, at least,” Malik said, his smile clearly only for Alnesr’s sake.

 

“Your arm could _not_ be saved?” Alnesr asked, his tone shaken by what he was seeing.

 

Malik reached out with his right arm, settling his remaining hand atop Alnesr’s left shoulder. “You’ve no reason to blame yourself for my condition.” The momentary coldness in Malik’s gaze was clearly meant for only him to see, but Alnesr’s swiftly-concealed wince clearly showed that he had seen it as well. “After all, you would not think to blame me for _this_?” he continued, gently tracing the no longer fresh but still plainly visible scar just above Alnesr’s right eyebrow. “Would you?”

 

“No, I suppose I would not,” Alnesr said, reaching up to touch his scar even as Malik had done.

 

“Now, what have you and your idiot Apprentice come to do?” Malik asked, the smile on his face gentle only up to the point when he turned it upon Altaïr himself.

 

“Altaïr is no longer apprenticed to me, Malik,” Alnesr said softly, the confidence that he had developed during the course of their hunt for the men that Master Mualim had set them out to kill nowhere in evidence.

 

Malik chuckled darkly. “So, he couldn’t even manage as an Apprentice, could he?”

 

“Malik, please,” Alnesr said, reaching out as if to touch Malik’s right shoulder, then hesitating and pulling his hand back. “The Master has ordered that we hunt down a man named Talal. Will you allow us leave to stay here while we search for the information we need?”

 

“ _You_ are perfectly welcome to have the run of this Bureau, Alnesr,” Malik said, aiming a smile of honeyed poison in his direction. “All I ask is that you make certain that your idiot Apprentice does not make a nuisance of himself.”

 

“Yes, Malik,” Alnesr said, his tone subdued; Altaïr was almost certain that he could guess the younger Assassin’s reasons for acting in such a way. “I thank you for your aid.”

 

“You are quite welcome to it, young Assassin. Go, take your rest now; you’ve clearly had a long journey.”

 

“Thank you for your consideration, brother,” Alnesr said, offering a shallow, respectful bow to Malik as the two of them turned to leave the main room of the Bureau.

 

Wrapping his right arm around Alnesr’s shoulders as the two of them made their way into the back room of the Bureau once more, Altaïr felt the younger Assassin leaning more heavily upon him. Not enough so that either of their movements were compromised, but enough that it became clear that he needed the support that only Altaïr himself could provide.

 

“I’d thought that the aid I had given him would have at least been enough to keep him from being wounded so gravely,” Alnesr said, his eyes downcast as the two of them continued over to the table where they would take their meal after having done so much work this day.

 

“I doubt that there was anything you could have done, faced with so many of Robert De Sable’s elite Templars,” he said, wanting to be reassuring but not knowing if he would be taken that way.

 

“I know,” Alnesr said, sighing as the two of them settled down at the table in front of them. “But, I have to admit that – until now – I still held out hope that Malik would not be permanently wounded by what had happened that day.”

 

“I know,” he sighed, looking back towards the front room of the Bureau. “I should not have been so arrogant at Solomon’s Temple; I fear you’ve both suffered for it.”

 

“I would not speak against you, Altaïr,” his former Apprentice said, his demeanor more meek than Altaïr had ever seen before.

 

“Only because I raised you,” he said, reaching out to softly raise Alnesr’s chin with his right hand.

 

Still, that was not entirely true; Alnesr had been as happy as any child, during the easier days that he had spent in training at Masyaf. He had learned through trial and error, and attended his lessons with diligence and good-humor both. However, on the day following their release from Masyaf’s dungeons, Altaïr had found Abbas with his hands wrapped tightly around Alnesr’s throat, clearly attempting to strangle the life out of him.

 

Something he would have succeeded in, if Altaïr himself had not acted so quickly in Alnesr’s defense. Abbas’ punishment had been to be whipped on his unclad back ten times, before the whole of Masyaf’s population of students and Novices, and after the Master had finished doling out his punishment, he had brought Abbas over to where he had stood with Alnesr at the back of the room. The Master’s command that Abbas was to apologize to Alnesr had been soundly ignored.

 

Even to this day, Altaïr could remember the way the younger Assassin had seemed to shrink inward on himself when Abbas spat at his feet.

 

Continuing to watch Alnesr as the younger Assassin took his meal, Altaïr recalled the Master’s response to Abbas’ continued disrespect: an open-handed blow that had knocked Abbas’ head to the side. The Master had taken it upon himself to apologize for Abbas’ deplorable conduct, but the damage had clearly been done. There were times, though admittedly not many of them, that he wondered what path their lives would have taken if Abbas’ father had not chosen to take his own life in Altaïr’s quarters that one, dark night.

 

However, such musings were best left for when he had the time to contemplate them.

 

Once he and Alnesr both had finished their respective meals, Altaïr followed the younger Assassin over to the pile of cushions. It was the same in every one of the Bureaus he had visited: the pile of cushions was always in the same place, and he was almost certain that the various piles were all the same size. Settling himself down to sleep, and feeling Alnesr curling up next to him, Altaïr closed his eyes and allowed himself to fully relax at last.


	23. Shared burdens

The next morning, after he and Alnesr had broken their fast, Altaïr rose and lead Alnesr out of the rooftop entrance of the Bureau. The two of them stood for only a moment, observing the layout of the city beneath them, before he took the lead and Alnesr fell into step behind him. Crossing a narrow walkway between two buildings that stood across the street from each other, Altaïr turned to nod over his right shoulder at his fellow Assassin, and the two of them parted ways.

 

Making his way up the side of a rather large tower, he calmly scaled the side of it and perched atop the low wall just below the top, pausing for a few, long moments to observe the layout of the city below him. Knowing even as he did so that Alnesr was doing the same. Leaping lightly from the lip of the tower, he landed easily in a cart filled with hay.

 

Rising from his landing, once he had determined that there was no one close enough to see what he was about, Altaïr left the cart behind him and made his way through the thronging crowds to meet with Alnesr once more.

 

Passing a pair of guards harassing an innocent citizen, Altaïr decided to deal with them; Alnesr would keep, but his duties to the Brotherhood were not to be neglected. Dealing with the guards, leaving them both dying on the ground, he paused a moment to acknowledge the citizen as she thanked him for what he had done. Even as he did so, Altaïr couldn’t help but think of his former Apprentice; Alnesr would not have been able to do something like this.

 

His appearance would not be well-regarded by any of those who lived outside of Masyaf.

 

As he left the quarter of the city where he had encountered the citizen whose defense he had acted in, he saw Alnesr coming from yet another quarter. It was clear that the younger Assassin had been in battle, the blood near the hems of his sleeves and on the bottom of his robes told plainly of the conflict that he had just participated in.

 

Nodding to Alnesr as the younger Assassin fell into step with him, Altaïr took the lead in their search as the two of them continued deeper into the rich quarter of the city. Turning as he heard various voices speaking from within the crowd, Altaïr listened for those who would speak of what Talal was about in this city. The more information they could find about the man, the easier their task would become when they at last moved to deal with him.

 

The two of them continued on their way through the city, melting through the crowd as though the two of them were not even present; or, that was how it would seem to anyone who sought to observe them. Hearing the sounds of urgent discourse, Altaïr bade Alnesr to follow his lead. Stopping just outside of the alleyway where he could hear the voices of the two men holding their discussion, Altaïr turned to brace Alnesr.

 

The younger Assassin shifted slightly, as in the manner of one who had discovered an uncomfortable pebble in his shoe, and as Altaïr watched his former Apprentice’s performance, he was almost tempted to smile; there were few enough who would think to look for spying eyes or listening ears among a pair of scholars whose younger had merely stopped to relieve a bit of discomfort on his foot.

 

“If the guard won’t take action, it falls to us to do something,” one of the men that he had observed, a bald one with a neatly-trimmed beard, said to another.

 

“What you propose is madness!” the other man said, as Alnesr removed his boot at last, upending it and shaking the item so as to dislodge anything that might fall out.

 

“But necessary!” the first man insisted. “How many more will we allow to go missing, before the people take a stand?”

 

“It does not affect us!” the second man snapped; both of them turning to look around, and quickly glance over himself and Alnesr as the younger Assassin firmly slapped the bottom of his boot, a look of concentration on his face that would have easily fooled those who did not know him.

 

“Not yet, but if we _continue_ to do nothing, it will.”

 

“And what do you propose?”

 

“I’ve watched the man,” the first of the planners said, the confidence of desperation in his tone. “Learned everything there is to know about his operation! It’s all here, on a map I’ve made.” As Alnesr carefully replaced his boot, Altaïr looked to the man in the pale brown robe; sure enough, he was reaching into his bag even as they spoke. “He inspects his stock, every day at the same time. This is when I’ll strike!”

 

“So, you have a piece of paper,” the other man, this one in a patterned, dark blue-green robe, said with derision. “It won’t save you when you’re discovered! Won’t shield you from their swords and arrows!”

 

“If all goes well, it won’t come to that,” the first man said; Altaïr winced at the uncomfortable reminder of his own previous arrogance. Truly, he may very well have been doing this man a favor, to take that dangerous burden from him; it was not for an unblooded citizen, to seek the work of an Assassin. “Anyway, it’s a risk I’ll have to take. Wish me luck, my friend.”

 

“Indeed,” the other man said, sounding if not convinced by his friend’s resolve, then at the least resigned to it. “You’ll need it.”

 

Their conversation ended, there was no more need for he and Alnesr to carry through with the deception that had shielded them from the eyes of those two men. Allowing Alnesr to regain his own balance, which the younger Assassin did with a skill and certainty that would have made any teacher proud, Altaïr signaled to him and the two of them melted into the crowd – sparse as it was in this area – in pursuit of the brown-robed man. Separating only enough so that they could both pass by on either side of him, Altaïr continued onward.

 

As they passed, just close enough to the man in gold-striped-brown robes so that he could not easily anticipate where the hand that relieved him had come from his left or right, Altaïr swiftly and with the skills granted to him by a lifetime of training, proceeded to do just that.

 

Merging with the denser crowds in the main thoroughfare, Altaïr assumed a more pious air and let the eyes of the citizens pass easily over him; after all, they had nothing to fear from a simple scholar. When he saw Alnesr falling into step with him, Altaïr smiled slightly. Truly, seeing how far his former Apprentice had come from the days of his childhood was indeed gratifying. He rather thought that the Master felt the same.

 

Still, now was not the time to indulge in idle reminiscence; there was still work to be done.

 

The two of them made their way into yet another quarter of the city; Altaïr led Alnesr to a convenient bench just as a pair of men – both of them seeming rather preoccupied by some matter or other – came into view. Settling down with the mien of one taking a much-anticipated rest, Altaïr turned his attention toward these two new men.


	24. Shadow of the slaver

“Please, you must help me,” pleaded one of the men; bearded and wearing dulled yellow robes. “I’ll pay you anything you ask. Anything!”

 

“It’s not so simple, my friend,” countered the man he was speaking to; this one wore a dark blue surcoat over bright white pants.

 

“But it is! I know all his tricks. He’s a coward, not a fighter.” Altaïr thought that this was rather less than likely, given the tales that others had carried of Talal and his skill, but he was not truly inclined to speak out on matters that he was not being consulted upon; nonetheless, he and Alnesr would clearly be doing this new man a favor by relieving him of the information he doubtless carried. “He’ll run at the first sign of trouble. Take this map; it will show you where he likes to hide.”

 

“You don’t understand,” the other man said, his tone becoming flat and almost menacing.

 

“Oh, I understand,” the first man said, beginning to sound rather overly confidant. “You are afraid. You call yourself a warrior, but a single slave-trader fills you with fear.” There was now a plain undertone of derision in the first man’s voice; Altaïr was uncomfortably reminded of the man he’d once been.

 

The second man laughed, a rather harsh sound, Altaïr observed. “Fear? Nothing of the sort,” he snapped.

 

“Then what?”

 

“It would be bad business on my part, seeing as I already work for him.”

 

“ _You_?”

 

“So,” the other man said, now sounding rather cruelly amused. “Now you understand? Go! Leave now, and I’ll forget we had this conversation.”

 

The first man fell to his knees, his confidence clearly shaken by finding an enemy in a man he had sought out for help had turned out to be merely one more of his enemies wearing a guise of false friendship. As the man made his way back through the indifferently milling crowds, Altaïr watched as Alnesr slipped neatly in close to the man in the faded, yellow robes, and swiftly relived him of the map that he was carrying.

 

“Do you think that the Informants would have anything of note? Or should we go back and make our report to Malik?” Alnesr muttered softly, head bent slightly toward his own, as the two of them resumed their pious, scholarly attitudes, and continued on their way.

 

“Perhaps,” he allowed, thinking back for a moment on the sometimes pleasant – and even profitable, at times – tasks that he had been asked to accomplish by the Assassin Informants that had been scattered about the various cities that the Assassins themselves hunted in. “It depends; would you say that _you_ want to perform what tasks that they would ask of you?”

 

“Well, I do not know what tasks they would ask of me,” Alnesr said, his words halting for a moment as an expression of contemplation crossed his face. “So, I do not know the answer to such a question.”

 

As the two of them moved through the milling crowds, becoming one with them and yet still remaining separate at the same time, Altaïr observed the pensive expression that settled on the younger Assassin’s face. He himself was not particularly eager to go chasing after Informants, when they had already managed to gather so much information about Talal in other ways, but for this mission, he would give Alnesr the latitude to choose.

 

So long as the younger Assassin also understood that he would also be the one to carry out whatever tasks the Informant – or Informants, if Alnesr had not had his fill of them after merely one – asked of him.

 

When they passed the location where an Informant was posted, Altaïr saw Alnesr subtly cock his head in thought, but he made no mention of it and they passed on without a word. Altaïr would not have actively discouraged the younger Assassin from pursuing the knowledge that an Informant might have had, if that were truly what Alnesr had desired, but it appeared that such had merely been a passing thought after all.

 

The two of them made for the rooftops once more, once the eyes of the crowds were no longer upon them, and together they were easily able to deal with those guards and archers both that they encountered on their way.

 

Soon enough, they had returned to the Bureau’s rooftop entrance. Climbing back down inside, once Alnesr was far enough that he would not be at risk of stepping on the younger Assassin’s hands as he descended, Altaïr stepped down off of the ornamental fountain and onto the floor beneath. Allowing Alnesr to proceed him into the main office, since it was clear that Malik would be far more amenable to speaking with him than to Altaïr himself, Altaïr made his own way inside.

 

“Safety and peace, Malik,” the younger Assassin said, clearly working to master the uncertainty he still felt.

 

“On you as well, brother,” Malik said cordially, though his gaze chilled when it fell upon him when he walked in. Altaïr said nothing; this was no less than he deserved, after the pain his actions had caused. “Come, tell me of what you learned this day.”

 

“Our target traffics in human lives; kidnapping Jerusalem’s citizens and selling them into slavery. He operates out of a warehouse inside the barbican north of here. Even now, he is making preparations to transport his prisoners in a caravan to Acre. There, they would have been given over to Garnier de Naplouse,” an expression of disgust crossed Alnesr’s face, but was quickly repressed.

 

“The Master informed me that Naplouse was your first,” Malik said, smiling gently. “It was well done, from the account he gave.”

 

Alnesr seemed surprised at such recognition, but he recovered his composure swiftly. “If we move quickly, we should be able to strike while Talal is still making his inspections. Between the two of us, we should have a good chance of handling what forces he could bring to bear against us.”

 

“Very well, then,” Malik said, nodding in a pleased manner. “Your assessment of your skills sounds reasonable,” here, Malik turned an icily-mocking smile on him. “I will give you and your idiot Apprentice leave to deal with this canker, Alnesr.” Malik placed a clean, white feather atop the counter, and Alnesr took it with only a moment of hesitation. “Safety and peace be upon you, brother. And good hunting.”

 

“Thank you, Malik,” Alnesr said, bowing subtly. “Safety and peace be upon you, as well.”

 

The two of them left in silence after that, one-by-one making their way back out of the rooftop entrance. They stood there for only a moment, before swiftly beginning to make their way north.

 

_~AC1~_

 

He was not yet certain if he was fully prepared to take another life, so soon after Naplouse. Alnesr knew that such hesitation was unseemly, and he was not going to mention it to Altaïr, even though he knew that his former mentor would understand. Altaïr would not be disappointed in him for such a thing, but that did not actually change the fact that Alnesr was rather disappointed in himself.

 

Putting those thoughts aside, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. Descending from the rooftops and making their way into the milling crowds once more, he and Altaïr continued on their path northward, to the warehouse inside the barbican that Talal operated out of. There, either he or Altaïr would move to deal with the slaver so that he could not cause any more misery to the population of Jerusalem than he previously had.

 

He would be required to make his final decision then, whether he would take on the task of ending Talal’s life so soon after he had ended that of Naplouse, or if he would allow Altaïr to take the lead as he had done so many times in the past. Their journey to the barbican northward would provide Alnesr with the time that he needed to decide on such a matter, and Alnesr would not waste it.

 

As he and Altaïr drew nearer to their ultimate destination, the crowds that had served to conceal them began to diminish in size, and so he and Altaïr returned to the rooftops. Alnesr always felt a thrill – one that he quickly suppressed, as he and Altaïr were and had been on a mission from Al Mualim – whenever he made the ascent beside the man who had been his mentor, and still remained the only true father that he had ever known; unseemly as such a thing would have been to admit before any of the Brotherhood. Not only for the fact that he and Altaïr moved almost as one in there better moments, not only for the wider vantage such a high-point provided him with, but for the simple fact that the village that Masyaf fortress stood sentinel over did not have any buildings within it that matched the height of those in the other cities that he had traveled to at the side of his once mentor and the behest of Master Mualim.

 

Still, Alnesr knew that he would have need to continue laying such feelings aside; not only were they unseemly for an Assassin, they might very well serve to distract him from his mission.

 

As he and Altaïr continued on their way across the rooftops bordering the streets of Jerusalem’s north district, making their way to the warehouse within the barbican that Talal operated out of so that they could be done with him at last, Alnesr breathed deeply in an effort to bring himself back to the state that he had achieved when he had ended the life of Garnier de Naplouse, and hence freed the citizens of Acre from his cruel dominion. It had served him well before, and as his task would – potentially – involve the ending of yet another wasted life, it would clearly serve him just as well here and now.


	25. Talal

They came at last upon Talal’s warehouse within the barbican, and as they entered, he noticed that even Altaïr himself seemed to be rather unsettled by the place where they now stood. True, this was not the most comfortable of places – very far from it, in fact – but Altaïr seemed rather more unsettled than he could account for even from that.

 

“Alnesr, have you noticed anything untoward about this place?”

 

“Is there something I _should_ be noticing, Altaïr?” he asked, scanning what he could see of the interior of the warehouse in the enveloping gloom.

 

“You have not taken note of the absence of guards here? Even of acolytes?”

 

Altaïr voice carried no inflection, but the glance the elder Assassin gave him was subtly reproving, and Alnesr winced slightly. He was so concerned with what was inside this warehouse, he had neglected to take note of what was _not_. Before he could speak, the door behind them slammed shut and he heard the distinct sound of a bolt being thrown. Shaking his head as Altaïr cursed softly behind him, Alnesr drew his own blade even as the elder Assassin did the same.

 

The crept forward as one, and Alnesr felt his eyes slowly beginning to readjust to the newly-darkened gloom inside the warehouse. He had also begun to smell something that reminded him a great deal of livestock, but the scent was somehow more human than animal. Clenching his jaw, steadying himself for whatever it was that he might soon see, Alnesr followed Altaïr deeper into the warehouse.

 

The first things he saw were mundane, and rather simple things at that: crates and barrels, all of them presumably filled with provisions for the journey that Talal thought he was going to make. However, what caught his attention next was neither of those: it was a cage, one in which a wan, pitiful figure of a man. One who was even then turning to regard the two of them with plaintive, sunken eyes that watered freely as they approached.

 

The man in the cage began pleading for their help, but he was not the only one. There were others, some in shackles and some held beneath grates in the floor. And all of them, it seemed, had seen their salvation and were now calling out for it.

 

“Alnesr, do you still remember your training to break locks?”

 

“I do,” he said, knowing just what it was that Altaïr would ask of him next.

 

“Free these people, then. I will see to Talal, and ensure that you are kept safe while you work.”

 

“As you say, Altaïr,” he nodded, moving to the cage where the poor wretch inside it even now watched him with awe and gratitude. “Good hunting, brother.”

 

However, as he went to work on the lock before him, Alnesr could hear the voice of another. A voice from on high; a voice telling them that they should not have come to this place.

 

_~AC1~_

 

As Alnesr worked to free the prisoners that Talal had taken, Altaïr himself moved forward. It had been a novice’s mistake, that which had lead him to trap both himself and Alnesr inside Talal’s warehouse and behind a door that was now barred behind them, but he would personally see that neither of them paid for his own mistake with their lives. Not Alnesr, nor any of the prisoners that his former Apprentice sought to free; none of them would be allowed to die for his foolishness.

 

“But, you are not the kind to listen to such warnings,” said a man that he suspected all the more now was Talal. “Lest you compromise your Brotherhood.” Talal paused once more, and his tone seemed rather regretful when he continued. “A pity about the child; we could have saved him, if we had been given the chance. Though perhaps we still can; time will tell.”

 

Altaïr knew that Talal meant to goad him with such words; to make him lose himself in fury, and hence endanger more than merely his own life, and so he set them aside. He knew Alnesr’s skill well enough to know that the younger Assassin would be able to protect himself and those he now guarded from whatever it was that Talal might contrive in an attempt to harm him.

 

“Still, did you truly think that you and yours would escape my notice _here_ , of all places?” Talal continued; Altaïr could not truly tell if he was disappointed or not by the lack of success that his goading was met with. “The two of you were known to me the moment you entered this city; such is my reach. And it is hard to mistake a boy with yellow eyes, little Assassin.”

 

This he had clearly directed at Alnesr, but whether his former Apprentice had truly taken note of such words he did not know; Alnesr continued with his work of freeing Talal’s prisoners and sending them as close as he could to safety as though Talal himself had not spoken at all.

 

“So, there are slaves here,” Altaïr said, trying his hand at a bit of goading himself. “But where are the slavers?”

 

“Behold my work, in all its glory,” Talal said, seeming to put aside Altaïr’s own words just as easily as Alnesr had put aside his.

 

More torches flared to life, and he could now see Alnesr’s good work all the more clearly; the younger Assassin darted between cages, grates, and shackled prisoners, and it took him the work of but a few moments to have them free once more. Some of them, those newly freed for the most part, would attempt to take their shelter behind him, but Alnesr would quickly wave them off and direct them to safer ground.

 

“What now, slaver?”

 

“Do not call me that,” Talal snapped. “I will allow that your boy has upset the system I had emplaced, and it will take some time to see it set to rights once more. I will even allow the fact that the child believes himself to be acting in good faith to these people; that is a good thing, for it means that my brothers and I will have a far easier time in saving him than I had at first thought.”

 

“You do these people no kindness, keeping them here as you have done,” he said, choosing once again to ignore the insinuations made towards Alnesr.

 

“Imprisoning them?” Talal scoffed. “I keep them safe. Preparing them for the journey that lies ahead.”

 

“The journey?” he scoffed in return. “You mean to say, the life of servitude you so generously gift them with after you have stolen their own lives?”

 

“You know nothing,” Talal snapped. “It becomes clear to me that only _one_ Assassin shall find his life spared, this day.”

 

“It becomes clear to _me_ , that the man I face is a coward,” he returned, raising his sword in more of a taunting gesture to the room at large, than to any one opponent that he might soon be facing. “Who can only hide in the shadows and strike with words.”

 

“You desire me to come into the light? So that you might see the man that brought you and the little one here to me?”

 

“Alnesr and I were not brought here by any machinations of yours, slaver. We came of our own will.”

 

“Truly?” Talal laughed in derision. “And, tell me: who unbarred the door that you walked through? Who cleared the path? Did either of you even once raise your blades against a single one of my men? No. All of this was done _for_ you, not by you.” Something in the ceiling opened, spilling a circle of daylight onto the stone floor. “Now, Assassin: step into the light, and I will do you a final kindness.”

 

Altaïr knew that if Talal had truly desired his death at this time, the slaver had more than enough archers to ensure that even _he_ would fall under such an onslaught. Even so, as he stepped forward and to the edges of the circle, the sight of Talal’s own men – masked and armed as they were – was slightly unsettling to him. Particularly now, since more than his own life was riding on the outcome of this battle.

 

The eyes of Talal’s masked men were like any of those who dealt in death; even Altaïr’s own found a reflection of himself in them.

 

There were six of them, and it seemed as though Alnesr’s assessment held true: with two of them, they _would_ have had a good chance of defeating these ones.

 

“And now I stand before you,” Talal said cordially, spreading his hands as though he was a gracious host who had merely invited Altaïr into his home. “What is it that you would ask of me?”

 

“Only that you come down, so that we may settle this with honor,” he said, calmly raising his sword; he was not going to be taken in by simple tricks, not after he had already been so deceived before.

 

“Why must these matters always end in violence?” Talal wondered aloud, his tone now one of gentle-seeming disappointment. “It seems that I truly cannot help you, Assassin; since you refuse to help yourself. So be it; I cannot allow my work to be undone, and I cannot allow your intransigence to threaten my brothers. Men: kill the elder Assassin, but spare the boy and bind him.”

 

“Alnesr, stand ready!” he called, as Talal’s men divided into two groups, and one of them moved to attack him with raised swords.

 

He distantly heard, over the rush of battle in his ears, Alnesr calling back to him, but then Talal’s men were upon him and there was no more time for reflection on things like that. Wading into the midst of his attackers, his sword raised to deal more swiftly with them, Altaïr briefly recalled the lessons that Master Mualim had taught him. As he closed with his chosen opponent, wearing a smile that was little more than a baring of teeth and intent, Altaïr could only hope that Alnesr was doing the same.

 

There was no time for him to call out to the younger Assassin again, and Altaïr hoped that there was no cause for him to do such, either; he could only trust in Alnesr’s skill, as the younger Assassin so clearly trusted in Altaïr’s own.

 

_~AC1~_

 

Two more of the men attempting to attack him fell to Alnesr’s blade, and were swiftly set upon by those who had once been their prisoners. Those selfsame former prisoners held no mercy for those who had kept them in bondage, and even as he continued to deal with the men still attempting to bar his path, Alnesr could hear the sounds of the still-lucid guards being kicked and beaten by the crowd that surged at his back.

 

“Talal seeks to escape from this place!” one of the stronger men, who had naturally been at the forefront of the crowd, called out. “Assassin!”

 

His remaining opponent was swiftly pulled into the surging crowd, and Alnesr quickly lost sight of him “I thank you for your aid,” he called back “Go now; return to your homes and your lives. My brother and I will attend to the rest.”

 

Turning away as the crowd disbursed behind him, Alnesr turned quickly to follow the path that Altaïr had, likely as not, taken in his pursuit of Talal as the slaver had attempted to make his escape. Once he had gained the rooftop, Alnesr quickly spotted Altaïr, just before the elder Assassin leaped from the rooftop in pursuit of someone. It seemed that he had indeed found just where Talal was trying to escape from.

 

Dashing along the path that Altaïr had previously taken, he leaped down into the crowds just in time to see Talal brought low by Altaïr’s hidden blade. As the crowds parted, clearly not a one of them wished to risk becoming a party to the violence being carried out here; just as clearly, none of them fully understood an Assassin’s dedication to preserving innocent lives.

 

He could hear Altaïr speaking more clearly, now: “You’ve nowhere to run now. Share your secrets with me.”

 

“My part is played, Assassin,” Talal wheezed, the life clearly beginning to leave him in earnest. “The brotherhood is not so weak that my death will stop our work.”

 

“What brotherhood do you speak of, slaver?” he asked, looking down at the man who then looked back at him.

 

“Al Mualim is not the only one with designs upon the Holy Land, child. But that’s all you and yours will hear from me.”

 

“Then we are finished,” Altaïr said firmly, already moving as though to rise. “Beg forgiveness from your God.”

 

“There is no God, Assassin,” Talal laughed weakly, death coming all the swifter now. “And, even if there ever was, he’s long since abandoned us. Long since abandoned the men and women I took into my care.”

 

“Your _care_?” Alnesr barely forced himself not to snarl, even as Altaïr rose back to his feet beside him.

 

“Beggars; whores; addicts; lepers. Do any of those strike you as proper slaves, little Assassin? No, I took them not to _sell_ , but to save.”

 

“Yes, I have seen the salvation you would offer them,” he snapped, not entirely able to keep the snarl from his voice when he did. “I have met the man that you would send those in your _care_ to; I have seen his cruelty with my own eyes, and ended it with my own hands.”


	26. Another evil one slain

He noticed that Altaïr had already stained the feather with Talal’s blood, and so the two of them moved off. The alarm had already been sounded, and as he and Altaïr gained the rooftops once again, Alnesr was already scanning for places where he and Altaïr would be able to conceal themselves long enough so that their hunters gave up the chase. So that they would not bring danger to Malik where he stayed, and in so doing compromise the Brotherhood.

 

Sheltering inside a rooftop garden until he could no longer hear the sounds of their pursuers, he looked to Altaïr, following the elder Assassin’s lead as the two of them left their temporary shelter. They made their way quickly, over the rooftops and back once more to the entrance of the Bureau that Malik oversaw. Following Altaïr back down into the interior courtyard, Alnesr allowed himself to breathe more easily once he had stepped down from the ornamental fountain.

 

As he and Altaïr made their way back into the Bureau’s main room, Alnesr watched the warm, welcoming smile on Malik’s face transform into something sharper and distinctly less pleasant as his gaze moved from him to Altaïr.

 

“So, how did you and your idiot Apprentice manage this latest task, brother?”

 

“The task is done, Malik,” Altaïr said, sounding rather more subdued than Alnesr had honestly been expecting when he handed over Master Mualim’s marker.

 

Malik said nothing in response to Altaïr’s words, and for a moment Alnesr wondered why that was; he wondered until he saw Malik’s gaze on him, and then he wondered that such a thing could be for his own sake. “I suppose the two of you had better stay here, until all of this furor dies down. You’ve done well, but Jerusalem will not be a safe place for you while those who were loyal to Talal remain in power.”

 

“Thank you for sheltering us, Malik,” he said, wanting for a moment to thank the elder Assassin for his discretion, but not knowing how to phrase such a thing so that it would not be taken in a way that he did not intend it.

 

“Go, rest,” Malik said, the warm smile on his face clearly meant for his eyes alone. “This unrest your actions have caused will take some time to pass; best you both leave quickly when it does.”

 

Nodding to Malik, trying not to allow the guilt he still felt clawing at his throat to overwhelm him, Alnesr made his way back out to the entrance of the Bureau. He could feel Altaïr’s right hand on his shoulder, and for a few moments Alnesr allowed himself to take comfort in that. After the two of them had settled down at the table, eating a last meal in Jerusalem before they departed for Masyaf once more, he found Altaïr studying him closely.

 

Truly, he was not the only one who grieved for the wound that Malik had suffered.

 

They finished their meal in silence, then moved over to the sleeping area to take what rest they could before they departed once more.

 

_~AC1~_

 

When he awakened once more, long enough before Alnesr did so that he could watch the younger Assassin’s yellow eyes open slowly, clearing as he awakened further. It had happened every time the two of them had slept side by side, ever since Alnesr was a child, and yet each time Altaïr would take note of it. In a very real way, Alnesr was his child; the closest thing he had had to a family, since his mother and father had both died.

 

The two of them had a light meal, and he waited in the other room while Alnesr bid farewell to Malik; he knew that the Rafiq had no desire to either see him or speak with him, and while he wondered if the other would ever have such a desire again, Altaïr knew that it was not for him to ask. He had wronged Malik gravely, and while he might try to make amends for such, it was Malik’s decision whether he received forgiveness for his foolish actions or not.

 

Still, after everything his foolishness had cost the new Rafiq, Altaïr doubted that he would be granted such; there were times he doubted that Alnesr would have done so, if the relationship between himself and the younger Assassin had been more distant.


	27. Long travel

When the two of them departed through the rooftop entrance once more, and Altaïr felt the embrace of the wind again, it served to settle his mind in the way it had so often done in the past.

 

Altaïr savored that peace of mind, knowing that it would not last. Talal was indeed not the only one who had spoken of being joined as part of a brotherhood, and his mind would not be settled until he had gained more understanding of just what it was that he faced, and Altaïr knew that only Al Mualim – who had sent himself and Alnesr out in the first place – could provide him with the understanding he now sought. Though there would, doubtless, be a price to be paid for such understanding.

 

Knowledge always came at a price.

 

Blending with a group of scholars who were even then making their own way out of the city, he and Alnesr passed right under the gaze of the watchful guards outside the gates. Breaking away from the group of scholars once they had passed far enough from the walls that they would not be seen doing so, Altaïr breathed more easily as he lead Alnesr back to the stable where they had left their horses.

 

Once the two of them were mounted and had set off once more, Altaïr allowed himself to look back and observe Alnesr’s state. The younger Assassin seemed to be doing well enough, though seeing what had become of Malik still clearly troubled him. Still, there would be little that he himself could do to assuage such guilt, when he clearly bore it for himself. A far greater share than Alnesr, to be sure, since his former Apprentice had not been the one to strike out on his own in an attack on Robert De Sable when the man had had at his back a cadre of elite Templar soldiers.

 

No; he could not be the one to speak to Alnesr about such things, not with his own guilt gnawing at his mind.

 

When it came time for the two of them to rest for the first time, near a well that had been carefully shaded from the heat and light of the sun that would steal the water away, Altaïr offered to see to the horses, and Alnesr in turn offered to see to their sleeping area. The two of them having mutually decided what tasks they would take, Altaïr set about his own while listening to the sounds of Alnesr making his own preparations.

 

The two of them slept neatly beside one another, and Altaïr woke as he always did.

 

They made as swift a journey as could be expected, down the roads and up the paths that lay between Jerusalem and Masyaf, stopping to sleep when they needed to and eating on horseback as they traveled. On the last long day of their journey, before they would make the last push forward to Masyaf village, and from there to the fortress that guarded it, he and Alnesr settled down to rest beside a fountain that had been walled-in and roofed; much in the same way the well they had taken their first rest by had been.

 

And, Altaïr suspected, for much the same reasons as well.

 

_~AC1~_

 

When he was awakened from a dream that had been all too common for him – that of Abbas’ father Ahmad coming to him; a gleaming dagger clutched in his hand, a dagger that he would draw slowly across his throat, grinning all the while – Altaïr looked to Alnesr, still seeming to be in the grip of peaceful slumber. He wondered, for a long few moments, if Abbas lingered in Alnesr’s dreams. If the hands of Altaïr’s once-brother, clenched around Alnesr’s throat, drove his former Apprentice from sleep even to this day. However, if that was true, you could not have proved it by Altaïr.

 

Moving closer to Alnesr, so that he could feel the younger Assassin’s warmth, Altaïr closed his eyes and hoped to at least be able to rest until first light.

 

When he was awakened again, this time by the lack of a need for sleep rather than the nightmare of before, Altaïr waited long enough to watch Alnesr’s pale yellow eyes open and then clear from the sleepiness that had formerly clouded them, before he rose and then helped the younger Assassin back to his feet. The two of them mounted their horses after a quick meal taken from their respective saddlebags, and Altaïr was only slightly swifter than Alnesr in departing from the fountain where they had taken their last night of rest.

 

Riding down the last of the roads, Altaïr began at last to see the village that Masyaf fortress stood sentinel over rising in the distance. He allowed himself to breathe more freely. Yes, he would be confronting the Master about the information that he had withheld, and it was likely enough that the Master would not be particularly pleased with the confrontation, but this was his home. He had been raised in this place, he had raised Alnesr in this place, and above any other that he might stay, Masyaf was his home.

 

All other considerations aside, Altaïr was glad to be returning.

 

Dismounting from his horse and giving the beast over to the stable hands to be cared for, he paused as Alnesr did likewise. Allowing the younger Assassin to fall into step with him, Altaïr made his way up the path to the citadel of the Brotherhood once more. Alnesr seemed to be rather contemplative, himself, and so Altaïr did not try to speak with him.

 

He would not have wanted to be interrupted while deep in thought, either; and so he would return the same courtesy.

 

The guards at the gate, those who had once seemed rather disdainful of him during the previous days, now seemed to be regarding him with something approaching the level of respect that they had previously demonstrated toward him. Altaïr was rather pleased to note such a thing, though he resolved not to allow the opinions of those uninvolved in his work to sway his own opinions about himself. That way lay the road that he had traveled down before, and he would not travel down it again.

 

Making his way back into the fortress, Altaïr turned to see that Alnesr seemed to have finished considering whatever it was that had made him so thoughtful. Nodding to the younger Assassin, Altaïr lead the two of them deeper into the fortress, up through the levels and onto the one where Master Mualim kept his library. The Master was standing at his desk, clearly waiting for them, and he smiled softly when the two of them made their way up to him.


	28. Seeking truth

“You’ve done well,” the Master said, nodding to both him and Alnesr. “Both of you. Three of the nine now lay dead, and for that you have my thanks. I am also pleased to see that your skill grows apace, Alnesr.”

 

“Thank you, Master,” Alnesr said, bowing to Al Mualim.

 

“Still, neither of you should think to rest on your laurels,” Master Mualim said, becoming sober and serious once more. “Your work has just begun.”

 

“We are yours to command, Master,” he said, even as Alnesr echoed the sentiment.

 

Al Mualim smiled again, and even gestured for them both to sit. “King Richard, emboldened by his victory at Acre, prepares to move south, toward Jerusalem. Salah Al’din is surely aware of this, and so he gathers his men before the broken citadel of Arsuf.”

 

Altaïr paused a moment, his thoughts cast back to the day that Salah Al’din and his Saracens had come to Masyaf under the banner of war… “Would you have me kill them both, then?” he asked; he would not deny that the thought of the Saracen leader being made to feel the bite of his blade was a pleasant one. “End their war, before it can begin in earnest?”

 

“No,” Al Mualim said firmly, almost snappishly. “To do so would scatter their forces; subjecting the land to the bloodlust of ten thousand aimless warriors.” Altaïr was forced to admit that he’d not considered such a thing; he felt transparent under the piercing gaze of the Master. “It will be many days before they meet, and while they march, they do not fight. You and Alnesr must concern yourselves with a more immediate threat: the men who pretend to govern in their absence.”

 

“Give us their names, Master; and we shall give you blood,” Altaïr said; his considerations of revenge would clearly have to be put aside for a time.

 

“And so I will,” Master Mualim said, after a short pause as his gaze took in himself and Alnesr both. “Abu’l Nuqoud, the wealthiest man in Damascus. Majd Addin, regent of Jerusalem. William de Montferrat, liege-lord of Acre.”

 

Altaïr had heard of those men before, but when he looked to Alnesr, he saw that the younger Assassin’s pale yellow eyes were bright with curiosity. “What are their crimes?” he asked, for the both of them.

 

The Master spread his hands as he explained. “Greed. Arrogance. The slaughter of innocents. Walk amongst the people of their cities, and I’ve no doubt that you will both learn well of their sins. Neither of you should doubt that these men are obstacles to the peace we seek.”

 

“Then they, too, will die, Master,” Alnesr said, before Altaïr himself could say anything.

 

_~AC1~_

 

“Well spoken, my child,” he said, though he hated the notion of what the boy was learning; still, he would take the time to cleanse Alnesr’s hands after he used the Apple to cleanse the child’s mind. “Take a day to rest here, and return to me as each man falls. Then, we might better come to understand their intentions.”

 

“As you say, Master,” Altaïr said, as he and Alnesr both rose and bade him farewell for the day.

 

He was tempted, for only a moment, to call Alnesr back to his side so that he could speak with the boy more personally. Still, he would have the time that he desired, to speak with the boy and draw his mind deeper into the Apple – to guide the child’s mind onto the correct path – while he and Altaïr took their rest. Leaving his study, Al Mualim made his way back to his personal quarters.

 

He had previously made arrangements to take his meals there, separating himself from these Assassins so that it would be all the more uncomplicated – not simple; the taking of lives should never be a _simple_ thing – to do what he must, in the end. Still, the thought that he would be able to preserve the life of one of those whose lives would have otherwise been forfeit was indeed a comforting one to him. Whatever name he went by, he was not a one to relish killing.

 

Once he had finished his evening meal, Al Mualim rose from his table and made his way back to his study within the fortress. The day’s light had begun to fail at last, and as dusk faded from the world as well, Al Mualim turned his gaze to the night sentries as they took their places around the fortress, he continued to wait. His chance would be coming soon, to further explore the hold that the Apple maintained over Alnesr’s mind.

 

Truly, the boy would need a different name; something to further separate him from the life that he had lived as an Assassin, just as Al Mualim had set aside his own name when he had entered into the life of a mentor to these Assassins.

 

Once true night had fallen at last, Rashid waited for several moments longer – wanting to be truly certain that all of the Assassins within their fortress were well and truly asleep – before he made his way back to where he had placed the Apple atop his desk. Placing his own hand atop the softly-glowing Piece of Eden, Rashid focused his will on the thread that he had left between the Piece itself and the mind of Alnesr.

 

Soon enough, he saw the boy himself making his way into the study that Rashid had claimed for himself under the name of Al Mualim.

 

Making his way over to the boy, Rashid gently touched the right side of his face; Alnesr was so calm, so placid like this. It was clearly a much better state for the child than his previous one. Still, Rashid had not yet been given the time he needed to fully establish his hold over these Assassins; he would need to take up Al Mualim again for that task.

 

And, for the time being, he would need to allow the child to stain his hands with the blood of those who acted in defense of his former comrades. Those that he had once called brother would need to die, so that he could steer the world onto the correct path. And now, so that he could cleanse the blood from Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr’s hands.

 

Gathering himself, Rashid sent Alnesr back to bed, placed his right hand atop the Apple, and carefully set the child’s mind back to rights.


	29. On the hunt once more

When he awakened the next morning, Alnesr felt that same sense of detachment from his body that he had been prey to the previous time that he and Altaïr had taken their rest at Masyaf. He’d not particularly missed the sensation, but there was little time to think on such things; he and Altaïr would be returning to their appointed task just as soon as they had finished breaking their fast.

 

Disrobing, Alnesr clad himself in yet another of the uniforms that had been hung out for him, then threw his sleeping clothes into the basket for the servants to collect.

 

Meeting up with Altaïr on the stairs leading down from his own room, Alnesr smiled at his former master as the two of them continued on their way down to the eating area. He did not wish to give the elder Assassin anything more to concern himself about, especially considering the fact that they were soon to leave for Acre once more, this time on the trail of William de Montferrat.

 

Once the two of them had finished their first meal of the day – as well as the only one they would be taking at the fortress itself – he and Altaïr made their way down to the ground level and back out into the neatly-laid stone of  the courtyard. He followed just behind the elder Assassin as Altaïr made his way back to the stables, and finished climbing into the saddle just as Altaïr turned to look back at him.

 

Nodding, Alnesr gently kicked his own horse into motion and followed Altaïr down the trail and away from Masyaf.

 

They traveled for six days, by his count, and just as the sun had begun to truly rise into the sky on the seventh morning, he and Altaïr finally came within sight of Acre once more. Gently urging his horse into a more sedate pace, even as Altaïr did the same in front of him, Alnesr guided the creature down the winding trail and into the field just outside the gates of the city.

 

Following Altaïr to one of the small stables outside of the city, Alnesr dismounted from his horse and left the beast behind. Falling in closely behind Altaïr as the two of them moved closer to the gates of the city, Alnesr only had a few moments to wonder just how they were going to make their way into the city, before he saw that Altaïr was preparing to blend in among a group of scholars as they made their way slowly forward. Closing ranks with the elder Assassin, Alnesr once again assumed a pious attitude, matched his walking pace to that of the sedately moving scholars, and moved into Acre itself directly under the eyes of those who had been set to guard it.

 

He supposed that another might have found it rather amusing, walking into a guarded city under the eyes of those who were meant to guard such a place; still, an Assassin could not be swayed by such things.

 

Separating from the quartet of scholars once the two of them were comfortably away from the sight of any guards, he and Altaïr swiftly made their way into a quieter part of the city, and then up onto the rooftops. It was a great deal easier to travel in such a manner; away from the citizens who might have otherwise have gotten involved in their affairs, and out of the way of a great many of the city’s guard forces. Yes, archers could still be a source of trouble, but they were rare and easily dealt with.

 

As he and Altaïr made their way swiftly back to Acre’s Bureau, Alnesr found himself wondering for a moment what would become of this odd partnership that he and Altaïr shared. Most Assassins worked alone, save for those times that they had taken on an Apprentice, or joined together in pursuit of some larger goal. It was clear that the Master no longer considered Altaïr his apprentice, and it did not seem as though this hunt that they were currently on required the presence of two Assassins.

 

As the two of them descended into the Bureau, Alnesr stepping down from the ornamental fountain just as Altaïr himself stepped back from it, Alnesr allowed himself to breathe more easily.


	30. Acre again

He could see that Alnesr seemed more comfortable, more settled within his own skin; Altaïr was pleased to note that. He did not know just how long Master Mualim would insist that the two of them continue working together as they had been, however he was determined to enjoy it while he could. Truly, it was a pleasing thing to see, that his teachings – those that he had learned at the knee of Master Mualim himself, in his turn – had been absorbed so well.

 

“Word has spread of your deeds, both of you,” Jabal greeted them, the expression on his face more surprised than Altaïr was particularly pleased with. “It seems that you are indeed sincere in your desire to redeem yourself, Altaïr.”

 

“I do what I can,” he said calmly.

 

“And sometimes you do it well,” Jabal allowed. “I presume it is work that reunites the three of us again?”

 

“Indeed,” Alnesr said. “William de Montferrat is the target that the Master has selected for us, this day.”

 

“Then the Chain District should be your destination,” Jabal said, pausing for a moment with a rather pensive expression on his face. “Still, you should both be on your guard; that section of the city is home to King Richard’s personal quarters, and is under heavy guard.”

 

“What can you tell us of the man himself?” he asked, folding his arms.

 

“William has been named regent while the king conducts his war. The people see it as a strange choice, given the history between King Richard and William’s son, Conrad. But I think Richard rather clever for it.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Alnesr asked, tilting his head in the rather birdlike manner he did when he was curious.

 

“Richard and Conrad do not see eye to eye on most matters,” Jabal said with a smile. “Though they are civil enough in public, there are whispers that each intends evil upon the other. And then there was that business with the city’s captured Saracens.” Jabal shook his head, after a wordless pause during which he seemed to search for something to say to that. “In its wake, Conrad has returned to Tyre, and Richard has compelled William to remain here as his guest.”

 

“His hostage, you mean,” he said, having guessed Richard’s true purpose for such an action; it _was_ indeed a wise one, he could see.

 

“Whatever you call it, William’s presence here should dissuade Conrad from acting out.”

 

“Where would you suggest that we begin our search, Jabal?” Alnesr asked, a thoughtfully curious expression on his face.

 

“At Richard’s citadel, southwest of here,” Jabal said, after a pause for thought. “Or rather, the market in front of it. You’ll find the Cathedral of the Holy Cross in that direction, as well. It’s a popular place, and should be filled with talkative citizens. Finally, try the border to the west, where the Chain and Hospitalier Districts meet. That should start you on your way.”

 

“Very well,” Altaïr said, nodding at the information that he had just been given. “We won’t trouble you for anything else.”

 

“It’s no trouble,” Jabal said, smiling kindly at the two of them for a moment before returning to cooing softly at his birds.

 

Turning, he caught Alnesr’s eye and the two of them made their way out into the entrance-room of Acre’s Bureau. Climbing up onto the ornamental fountain, Altaïr quickly scaled the wall, pausing once he stood atop the roof and waiting for Alnesr to reach him. When the younger Assassin stood next to him, Altaïr nodded and the two of them left to make their way southwest, toward the place where Richard’s citadel could be found.

 

And also the marketplace that Jabal had suggested would be such a fine source of information for them.

 

Descending back into the streets, in the shadowed corner of an ally out of sight of the milling crowds, Altaïr saw Alnesr shadowing him and smiled slightly. True, he did not know just how long their partnership would last beyond this mission, but it was a pleasant thing to observe the growth of Alnesr’s skill. A pleasant thing, to see his teachings put to such good use.


	31. Investigations

Making their way out of the city’s middle district, with its market stalls and neatly-dressed citizens, they came into the rich district. Naturally, the place was in better repair than the middle district – to say nothing of the sorry state of the poor district; in any city, not merely Acre – and the citizens more finely dressed. However, a discussion between a knight and a figure in a brown cloak quickly drew Altaïr’s attention.

 

“Perhaps it was unwise to embrace William, he is old and thinks too much of himself,” the man in the brown cloak – a friar, Altaïr realized quickly – whose own voice creaked with age, said.

 

“His army is the largest,” the knight said, his voice younger and more confidant, said. “We’ll have need of them. For now, I’ll go and visit with the other Brothers. Make sure they have everything they’ll need.”

 

“Aye, they must not fall,” the friar agreed swiftly.

 

“Fear not,” the knight said calmly. “The Master has a plan. Even now, he prepares a way to turn our losses to hid advantage, should it come to that.”

 

 _Master?_ He pondered. _Brothers? Could even these people be linked in some way?_ It was an unsettling thought, that; that there may yet have been more things that he was not aware of.

 

“What does he intend?” the friar asked.

 

“The less you know, the better,” the knight said firmly. “Just do as you’ve been instructed: deliver this letter to our Master.”

 

The knight smoothly passed the letter that they had spoken of to the friar, and Altaïr flexed his fingers slightly, a small smile curving his lips. He and Alnesr had both settled themselves down on a bench, as though they were merely resting from their walk through the districts of Acre. Rising, nodding subtly to Alnesr to let the younger Assassin know that he would be handling this on his own.

 

Walking up behind the friar, his mien on of a person merely wanting to take in more of the city’s rich district, Altaïr quickly lifted the letter from the folds of the friar’s cloak. Moving away from the place where he had made the lift, Altaïr saw that Alnesr was moving to close with him. Leading the younger Assassin into a nearby alleyway, he quickly unrolled the scroll and arranged himself so that he and Alnesr would both be able to read it:

 

_Master: work continues in the Chain District of Acre, though we are concerned about William’s ability to see this through to the end. He takes his duties a bit too seriously, and the people may reject him when the time comes. Without the aid of the Treasure, we can ill-afford an uprising, lest it recall the King from the field. And then your plan will be for nothing._

_We cannot reclaim what has been stolen unless the two sides are united. Perhaps you might prepare another to take his place – simply as a precaution. We worry that our man in the harbor will become increasingly unstable; already he speaks of distancing himself. And this means that we cannot rely on him should William fall. Let us know what you intend, that we might execute it._

_We remain ever faithful to the cause._

 

Altaïr swiftly folded the letter once he had finished reading it, considering for a long moment the merits of showing it to the Master once he and Alnesr returned to Masyaf once more. Still, it was becoming ever more plain that there were things that Master Mualim had not spoken of with either him or Alnesr. After a few moments longer spent in contemplation, Altaïr decided that he would speak of his conclusions to the Master in more detail once he and Alnesr had returned to Masyaf.

 

However, for the moment there were other things that needed attending to; William de Montferrat was to fall – by either his blade or Alnesr’s – and to make that possible they would both need all of the information that they could gather on the man.

 

Moving back out into the more populated streets, so that they could lose themselves within the milling crowds once more, Altaïr was careful to keep his gaze sharp for anything else that might serve them in their investigation of Montferrat. He saw Alnesr’s head turn in that direction, just as he himself began to hear the sounds of a struggle. After only a moment of hesitation, Alnesr was moving through the crowds with the

stealth and swiftness that Altaïr had worked to train into him.

 

Trusting that Alnesr would be well, though he would speak to the younger Assassin if he seemed unsettled when he returned, Altaïr turned his own attention back to the search. Moving carefully through the crowds, always making certain not to attract undue attention, Altaïr caught the telltale sounds of yet another citizen in distress. Moving quickly but subtly out of the sight of the crowd, Altaïr sought out the citizen and quickly dealt with those who had been accosting him. As it happened, it was another of the scholars who had so often provided at least a reasonable amount of aid to the Brotherhood in the past; and clearly would continue to do so in the future.

 

“Thank you, young man,” the old graybeard whose defense he had just come to said. “You’ve done me a great kindness, and I will see to it that such is returned.”

 

“Of course,” he said, nodding respectfully as the old man turned and left.

 

Moving back in among the crowd, Altaïr matched their pace as he saw Alnesr turning to subtly scan the faces of the people milling around him. When the two of them had fallen into step once more, Altaïr began to hear the beginnings of another conversation; this one being held between another young man and an elder, but neither of them seemed to be knights this time.

 

“What news?” asked the younger.

 

“Grim; I finished my scout, a direct assault won’t work.”

 

“What’s the trouble?”

 

“Archers!” the old man said. “He’s got them all over the fortress. And no easy way to reach them; they’d pick us off before we’d made it ten feet inside.”

 

Altaïr narrowed his eyes, having ducked into the mouth of a disused ally when he had first heard the two men beginning to speak; it seemed as though they would be facing men such as Talal’s once more. It would be troublesome, yes, but with the help Alnesr could provide Altaïr thought it would at least prove more manageable for the two of them than it would for these two men. Both of whom seemed to be laborers of some kind or other.

 

“You’ve kept a record, yes?” the younger asked.

 

“Aye; I’ve marked their positions on a map.” Altaïr allowed a brief smile to flicker across his face.

 

“Bring it to the others,” the younger suggested. “No doubt they’ll have a use for it.”

 

“Very well,” the elder said, with a short, sharp nod. “I’ll go at once.”

 

“Stay strong, brother,” the younger man said.

 

“Yes, and you,” the elder said, returning the brief embrace that the younger gave him.

 

Motioning for Alnesr to stay where he was, Altaïr carefully followed the old man, shadowing his steps until he was able to close with the man and take the map that he had so carefully prepared. Such tasks were not suited for those who seemed, at best, to be nothing more than laborers who had some skill in moving unnoticed and observing their surroundings. Altaïr could only hope, however briefly, that these two and however many supported them in their endeavors would not do anything foolish in light of the reprieve they had been unknowingly granted.

 

Rejoining Alnesr, the two of them made their way back into the crowds, so that they could lose themselves and any followers they may have inadvertently gained during their excursion. Once he was satisfied that they were out of sight of anyone who might have thought to follow them, after they had briefly blended with a group of scholars on their way to some unknown destination, Altaïr turned his attention back to their appointed task.

 

True, they could have gone back to Jabal with the information they had gathered at present, but Altaïr was not about to leave a task half-completed if he did not have to; he did not know if another might have considered such a thing excessively prideful, but Altaïr was determined to hold to his chosen course of action nonetheless.

 

Listening for any other conversations happening in the area, those that would lead to more information on the standing of William de Montferrat in the city he had been said to rule. However, it seemed as though Montferrat was not well-regarded at all; all of those whose conversations he had stopped to overhear had all seemed to be plotting against Montferrat in some manner or other. Truly, he and Alnesr would be doing a great service to the people of Acre by removing Montferrat from his seat of power.

 

More words, seditious words, caught Altaïr’s ear then:

 

“William de Montferrat cares _nothing_ for the people of Acre,” the man speaking in the square said, he signaled to Alnesr and the two of them carefully moved out of his sight to observe him. “While we sit and starve, the men inside his keep want for nothing! They grow fat upon the fruits of our labor! He brought us here to rebuild, he said. But now, far from home and the grace of our king, his true plan becomes apparent! He steals our sons, sending them into battle against a savage enemy! Their deaths are all but guaranteed! Our daughters are taken to service his soldiers, robbed of their virtue! And he _compensates_ us with lies and empty promises! Of a better tomorrow; of a land blessed by God. What of now? What of today? How much longer must we go without? Is this truly the work of God, or of a selfish man who seeks to conquer all? Rise up, people of Acre! Join us in our protest!”

 

Altaïr continued to observe the man, even as others who lived in the city disparaged the work that he was clearly trying to do; it seemed as though no one was willing to risk rousing William’s wrath. His holds upon the citizens were clearly too tight, too many, and too varied.

 

“How many have you called to our cause?” asked the man he was meeting.

 

“I fear they are too afraid,” the man said, shaking his head. “None would heed the call.”

 

“We must keep trying,” the second man said; Altaïr could respect his tenacity, misplaced though it would ultimately prove to be. “Find another market; another square. We must _not_ be silenced!”

 

When the two of them departed once more, Altaïr turned to Alnesr and found that the younger Assassin was watching the space where the man had gone with a wistful expression on his face.

 

“Alnesr,” he called softly, drawing the younger Assassin’s attention.

 

“It seems as though we will, indeed, be doing these people a service by removing Montferrat from their city,” the younger Assassin said thoughtfully, turning to face Altaïr after only a few moments.

 

Nodding with a slight smile, Altaïr turned to make his way back toward the Bureau; they had done enough for this day. The information that they had both gathered would serve them well in their appointed task. When they had made their way back up to the rooftops, Altaïr began to notice that Alnesr was watching him more closely, as though the younger Assassin had something to say. Turning slightly, after he’d dealt with the archer atop this particular rooftop, Altaïr nodded to show that he was listening.

 

“One of the informants that I met said that he attempted to strike a bargain with the guards within Montferrat’s citadel,” the younger Assassin informed him. “His intent was to have them leave the gates open even after the alarms were sounded. It seems that he failed.”

 

He hummed in thought. “I suppose that even some of our enemies may be bound by loyalty, even as we are. I do appreciate the gesture, but I have confidence in both our abilities.” He smiled slightly. “On that particular subject, I expect that you will be competing with me for the task of taking William’s life.”

 

“Indeed?” Alnesr tilted his head slightly, offering a small smile of his own. “Well then, I suppose I cannot refuse such a challenge.”

 

He chuckled softly at Alnesr’s enthusiasm; truly, even considering his advanced rank, anyone who knew the two of them would recognize Alnesr as his student.

 

The two of them had soon subsided into silence once more, and as Altaïr continued to lead Alnesr across the rooftops, he found himself honestly anticipating the work that he and Alnesr were soon to take part in. William clearly had no concept of how to properly administrate his city; the people of this city were suffering under him, and those who would otherwise speak against him were clearly terrified of such.

 

It was not a situation that could be allowed to continue, and so he and Alnesr would see to it that it did not.


	32. Lord of Acre

Continuing across the rooftops, only pausing long enough to dispatch the archers that had the misfortune to stand between them and their destination, he and Alnesr had soon found their way back to the Bureau, and Jabal with it. Descending into the sleeping and eating area of the Bureau, he proceeded Alnesr into the main room to meet with Jabal. As ever, Acre’s Rafiq was in a jovial mood.

 

“We’ve done as asked,” Altaïr said, the tired satisfaction of a task well done coming over him once more.

 

“Indeed,” Alnesr said respectfully, taking up the narrative. “We have armed ourselves with knowledge, and now know what must be done to kill Montferrat.”

 

“Speak, then,” Jabal said, smiling gently for Alnesr. “And I will judge your efforts.”

 

“William’s host is large, and many men call him master,” Altaïr said, as Alnesr fell respectfully silent once again. He would have to work on the younger Assassin’s confidence, clearly. “But he is not without enemies. He and King Richard do not see eye to eye.”

 

“It is true,” Jabal agreed, nodding. “The two have never been close.”

 

“This will work to our advantage,” he said. “Richard’s visit has upset him. Once the king has left, William will retreat into his fortress to brood. He’ll be distracted then, and that is when Alnesr and I will strike.”

 

“You are certain of success?”

 

“As certain as I can be,” he allowed. “And if circumstances change, we will adapt to them.”

 

“That is good to hear,” Jabal said, nodding in satisfaction. “You have my permission to go. End the life of Montferrat, that we may call this city free.”

 

“We will return once the deed is done,” he said, taking the feather as it was handed to him with a respectful nod to Jabal.

 

Turning to make his way back out of the main room of the Bureau, Altaïr turned to watch as Alnesr quickly fell into step with him once more. He would speak to the younger Assassin once the two of them had made it back out onto the roof of the building; he’d no desire to bring up matters that should stay between the two of them before Jabal. Truly, they would merely serve to distract the Rafiq from his own concerns.

 

Climbing back up onto the ornamental fountain, and from there onto the roof, Altaïr turned his attention to Alnesr just as it seemed the younger Assassin was readying himself to set off.

 

“Wait a moment, Alnesr,” he said, turning to the younger Assassin before he could have even taken his first step.

 

“What do you wish to speak with me about, Altaïr?” the younger Assassin’s yellow eyes were intent upon him.

 

“Why did you fall silent when we were making our report to Jabal?” he asked, facing the younger Assassin intently.

 

“It seemed somewhat needless, to me, for the two of us to speak when we had both gathered the same information,” Alnesr said, the expression on his face a mix of calmness and curiosity.

 

He paused a moment; truly, he’d not been expecting something of that nature when he’d called for Alnesr’s attention. “Indeed?”

 

“Yes,” the younger Assassin nodded briefly.

 

“I suppose that makes sense,” he allowed, somewhat surprised that he had misjudged the younger Assassin after knowing him for so long, but also rather pleased that Alnesr seemed to have gained the confidence that he had been attempting to instill.


	33. William de Montferrat

Allowing the younger Assassin to proceed him across the rooftops as the two of them made their way back into the district where William de Montferrat kept his citadel, Altaïr followed at just enough of a distance that neither of them would be in any danger of tripping the other up. He was pleased, once again, to note the smooth and economical motions of his former Apprentice displayed as he ran; truly, his teachings had taken well.

 

Banishing those thoughts from his mind after only a moment spent examining them, Altaïr turned his full attention to the journey that he and Alnesr were making. They moved with speed and grace over the rooftops, only pausing momentarily when they were forced to deal with an archer who might bar their path. Soon enough, they came within sight of the citadel that William de Montferrat maintained; now, all that remained was for them to find a path inside.

 

However, even as he searched for just such a way, one that would not see them discovered by Montferrat and his troops, Altaïr caught a glimpse of King Richard himself making his way up to the citadel. Signaling Alnesr to wait, since it would not be possible for them to enter unseen when there was such a large crowd gathered outside the citadel, he watched as Alnesr crouched down beside him, and then turned his attention to the exchange between William and the man he purported to serve.

 

Relations between the two _were_ rather frigid, as they had previously been informed, and Altaïr found that he could not quite help the thought that Richard – of all people – would not particularly mourn the death of Montferrat, whatever he might say on the matter.

 

Once the king had left the citadel far behind, Altaïr watched as Montferrat spoke with one of his guards and briefly wondered what the man had said. Then, dismissing that thought from his mind since it was not of any particular importance under circumstances such as these, Altaïr signaled Alnesr to follow him, and the two of them carefully made their way into the citadel that William de Montferrat maintained. He’d not forgotten the challenge that had been made between himself and Alnesr, but in their present circumstances it was of far more importance that they were able to infiltrate the citadel.

 

They could compete for the man’s life once they were certain that their own were not at so much risk as they otherwise would be.

 

There were indeed archers within the citadel, and he turned to nod at Alnesr even as he found the younger Assassin turning to him in that same fashion. They nodded to each other, and swiftly parted to deal with the archers. For a few moments, as he dealt with those in the half of the citadel that he had taken on for himself, Altaïr was briefly tempted to check on Alnesr’s progress. But no; he’d trained the younger Assassin since Alnesr’s childhood, now he would have to trust that his lessons had been absorbed.

 

He _would_ learn to do such; even if he had to force himself as he was doing now.

 

Moving quickly and silently, in the times when one of the archers would turn away from the interior of the courtyard to look outward for a time, Altaïr killed his targets with his own set of throwing knives during those times when he was certain that they would not fall into the courtyard and cause a commotion. Finding his thoughts beginning to turn back to Alnesr, he forced himself to concentrate on what Montferrat was saying.

 

There was little chance of it being particularly important, but it would serve to distract his thoughts, and that was what he most needed at this moment. Clearly, Montferrat was rather displeased with the carelessness that he and Alnesr had taken advantage of to enter the citadel proper.

 

“Men, gather round; heed well what I have to say.” The men that he had called to him all came as he had asked. “I come from speaking with the king, and the news is grim. We stand accused of failing in our duties. He does not recognize the value of our contributions to the cause.”

 

“For shame,” one of Montferrat’s men said, shaking his head.

 

“He knows _nothing_ ,” spat another.

 

“Peace. Peace. Hold your tongues,” Montferrat admonished. “Aye, he speaks falsely, but his words are not without _some_ merit. When touring these grounds, it is easy to find fault. To see imperfection; I fear we have grown slack and lazy.”

 

Altaïr allowed himself a small smile; he and Alnesr could well attest to the indolence of the men Montferrat claimed to have trained.

 

“Why do you say this?”

 

All of the men in the courtyard bristled at those words, and Altaïr looked up to see that Alnesr had done just as he was doing: using the distraction so kindly provided to move stealthily along the walls of the courtyard. Looking back down, Altaïr found that he was in position to see what a good number of Montferrat’s men seemed too preoccupied to take note of: from a door at the opposite end of the courtyard, more guards had appeared.

 

However, these ones were dragging two men between them; men who wore Crusader livery, but were prisoners at this moment.

 

“I see the way you train,” Montferrat shouted, his scorn now turned fully upon those Crusaders that he had had taken prisoner. “You lack conviction and focus; you gossip and gamble. Tasks appointed to you are left unfulfilled or poorly performed. This ends today! I will not suffer further degradation from your actions! Whether or not you see it – and you _should_ – this is your fault! You’ve brought shame upon us all. Skill and dedication are what won us Acre. And they will be required to _keep_ it, as well! I have been too lenient, it seems; but no more. You will all train harder and more often. If this means missing meals, missing _sleep_ ; so be it. And, should you continue to fail at your tasks, you will learn the _true_ meaning of discipline,” Montferrat once more swept the masses with his gaze once more, before focusing on the two prisoners he had had brought before him. “Bring them forward.”

 

Moving carefully, Altaïr soon found himself near enough to see Montferrat’s balding head more clearly, as well as the spittle that flew from his lips as he continued to berate his men. There was now the chance that he and Alnesr both could be spotted if any of the men below them were to look up for one reason or another, but discovery was always a risk that any Assassin took during their missions. However, here and now Montferrat’s men seemed to be far more concerned with what the man himself might have had in mind for them.

 

“If I must make examples out of some of you to ensure obedience, then so be it,” Montferrat announced, then turned his attention to the pair of captives that he had ordered taken. “The two of you stand accused of whoring and drinking while on duty. What say you to these charges?”

 

Over the muttering of the crowd, Altaïr found that he could just make out the mumbled pleas of Montferrat’s captives. He briefly wondered what they would have said if they were being tried honestly, rather than simply singled out so that a tyrant might once more prove his power over those he held in thrall. With only a scowl and a wave of his hand, Montferrat ordered their executions. Their throats swiftly cut, the two Crusaders spent their last moments of life staring at their own blood as it pooled around their heads on the flagstones.

 

“Disregard for duty is infectious,” Montferrat said, sounding almost regretful as he continued watching the men in their death throes. “It must be rooted out and destroyed. In this way, we might further prevent its spread. Am I understood?” the men muttered assent, and Montferrat nodded. “Good, good. Return to your duties, then; filled with a renewed sense of purpose. Stay strong, stay _focused_ , and we will triumph. Falter, however, and you _will_ join these men. Be sure of it. Dismissed.”

 

Montferrat waved them off, and as the men dispersed, Altaïr breathed more deeply than he had been allowing himself to do for some time. Now, it would be far simpler for either himself or Alnesr to descend from above and thus to finally rid Acre of the evil that Montferrat spread from his seat here. Montferrat’s attention was presently absorbed with the paperwork that he had spread out on the table before him, something that Altaïr also found himself grateful for.

 

If only in a distant sort of way, as most of his attention was currently focused in moving silently across the rooftop where he and Alnesr had concealed themselves.

 

His gaze fixed downward, Altaïr saw Montferrat turn in displeasure, still shuffling through his various papers in an effort to find whatever it was that he sought. A groan of annoyance was carried up to where he and Alnesr continued their own separate ways across the rooftop, as Montferrat spilled a stack of papers from the table in his haste. There was a brief moment when it seemed as though the man would summon assistance from those who served him, and Altaïr tensed for a few, long moments.

 

But then Montferrat seemed to reconsider such a thing, and Altaïr allowed himself to relax once more; even if only slightly.

 

As Altaïr leaped from the rooftop, Alnesr beside him, he saw Montferrat look up suddenly. It was possible that he had heard the soft _snap-click_ of either his or Alnesr’s hidden blades being engaged, or seen shadows moving above him before they descended. But whatever the reason for his discovery, it was still far too late to save Montferrat from his ultimate fate.

 

He came down on the Crusader’s right side, Alnesr on his left, and as one they two imbedded their hidden blades in Montferrat’s flesh: he in the man’s neck, and Alnesr in nearly the same area from his own side.

 

A flash of good-humor from those pale yellow eyes was all he saw, before Alnesr turned his attention outward; guarding them both from being taken unawares by Montferrat’s remaining Crusader soldiers. Altaïr knew that the two of them would only have a limited time to remain here, with so many Crusaders in the same place, but he was grateful for Alnesr’s dedication all the same.

 

It seemed as though neither of them had quite won their small competition, however.

 

“Rest now,” he said, soft and quiet so that only the man dying in his arms would be able to hear him. “Your schemes are at an end.”

 

“What do _you_ know of my work?” Montferrat demanded hoarsely, blood streaming from his mouth.

 

“I know that you planned to murder Richard; and to claim Acre for your son, Conrad,” he replied calmly, withdrawing his hand.

 

Montferrat seemed amused by this, for some reason. “For Conrad? My son is an arse; unfit to lead his host, let alone a kingdom. And Richard? He’s no better; blinded as he is by his faith in the insubstantial. Acre does not belong to either of them.”

 

“Then who?” he asked, wondering what answer Montferrat, of all men, would give to him.

 

“The city belongs to its people.”

 

Again, a confusing sentiment from one of the men whose lives he had been sent to take, but by this time Altaïr had almost come to expect such; these tasks that the Master assigned to him were clearly not so simple as he had made them sound. “How can you claim to speak for the citizens? You stole their food; disciplined them without mercy. And even forced them into service under you.”

 

“Everything I did, I did to prepare them for the New World,” Montferrat said, in the tone of a man who had no regrets. “Stole their food? No; I took possession so that when the lean times came, it might be rationed properly. Look around: my district is without crime, save those committed by you and your ilk. And as for conscription? They were not being trained to fight. They were being taught the merits of order and discipline. These things are hardly evil.”

 

“No matter how noble you believe your intentions to be, your acts were cruel and could not be allowed to continue,” Altaïr said; he knew that every man would have a justification in his own mind when they were confronted about their actions, but the one that Montferrat was giving him sounded distinctly familiar.

 

He’d heard words just like this before.

 

“We’ll see how sweet they are, the fruits of _your_ labors,” Montferrat hissed, the light finally beginning to fade from his eyes in earnest. “You and yours do not free the cities as you believe, but damn them. And in the end, you’ll have only yourselves to blame. You who speak of good intentions…”

 

If Montferrat had intended to say anything else, however, no one living would hear it. “In death, we are all made equals,” he intoned, staining the feather he carried with Montferrat’s blood. “Alnesr, come.”

 

The younger Assassin followed him swiftly, a white shadow in the near-deserted citadel, as Altaïr lead the two of them quickly away. They gained the rooftops once more, a safer prospect now that the archers had been dealt with, and only paused for a moment to catch their respective breath once they had covered enough ground not to be spotted by any guards who might have even then been sounding an alarm.

 

As if in response to such thoughts, the bells of the city began tolling loudly, and so Altaïr swiftly lead Alnesr into a well-screened rooftop garden. It would serve to conceal them from the guards and Crusaders who would be coming out of the citadel in force, now, to avenge the death of Montferrat. Though some of those hunting might have held little love for the man, Altaïr was not willing to trust his own life or Alnesr’s to such sentiments.


	34. Departure with news

Watching as a group of Crusader soldiers passed out of sight of their hiding place, Altaïr lightly touched Alnesr’s right shoulder, and then lead the younger Assassin back out onto the rooftops. The bells were still tolling, so he knew that the two of them would need to be particularly cautious in order to avoid being spotted by any of Montferrat’s men; Crusader and guard alike.

 

They were only forced to take shelter once more, this time in a pile of hay upon the ground, before returning to the rooftops to continue on their way back to the Bureau.

 

Once the two of them stood atop the Bureau’s own rooftop, Altaïr followed Alnesr back down into the building and allowed himself to breathe more freely once he stood at ease within the second room. Proceeding Alnesr into the main room, Altaïr saw Jabal look up in welcome.

 

“What news?” the Rafiq asked.

 

“William de Montferrat is dead,” he reported. “And with him, his plans for betrayal.”

 

“You’ve done well, keeping Acre from his hands,” Jabal said, approval clear in his tone.

 

Yet, Altaïr still found himself rather curious. “But why now? When the Crusaders require unity most? Montferrat could have simply waited; struck at a more opportune time.”

 

“He did not strike me as a particularly patient man,” Alnesr said. “It seems that he merely overreached himself.”

 

“Yes, that could be true,” Altaïr allowed, his attention turned briefly toward Alnesr.

 

“Ah, but what moment would he choose?” Jabal asked. “Richard would have discovered his schemes soon enough; such plans are not easily concealed. No, this was the perfect time for him to strike.”

 

“Strange,” he said, shifting slightly on his feet as he began to grow restless. “I was sure he meant to take Acre for Conrad, yet he claimed that such was not his plan.”

 

“You cannot trust the words of a snake, which even in death produces venom,” Jabal said dismissively.

 

“I should discus this with Al Mualim,” he said, knowing it was true.

 

“Yes,” Jabal said, now bent over a ledger. “The two of you should make for Masyaf. I am sure he is eager for news.”

 

“Yes,” he said, nodding. “We will do so once the city’s guards are no longer so eager to detain those attempting to leave. Come, Alnesr.”

 

“Of course.”

 

The two of them made their way back into the room that they had entered through, making their way over to the pile of cushions so that they could curl up within them and await the opportune moment to make their way out of Acre once more.

 

_~AC1~_

 

When the morning came again, and he had regained the full use of his mental faculties, Alnesr rose back to his feet and followed Altaïr to the nearby table where the two of them broke their fast. After they had taken a moment to allow their meal to settle, Alnesr followed Altaïr back up onto the Bureau’s rooftop, and the two of them swiftly made their way back out of the city.

 

It had been some time since he and Altaïr had entered the city, and so he was not entirely certain of what path they had taken to enter Acre in the first place. He could not, therefore, say with any degree of surety that he and Altaïr were retracing the path that they had taken into the city, but it was a path that took them out all the same. Once they had made their way back to the stables, Alnesr mounted his horse and quickly joined up with Altaïr on the road out of Acre.

 

They passed their first day in silence, as was their custom from the early days that they had been traveling together; the work of Assassins was not a thing lightly discussed outside of their fortresses, and never among outsiders.

 

Nights and days passed, with the two of them only pausing when they needed rest and having what meals they desired on horseback, and soon Alnesr was able to glimpse the distant spires of Masyaf where the fortress sat proudly upon its mountain. Breathing more easily for the fact that the two of them were home once more, Alnesr gently guided his own horse back to the stables and neatly dismounted.

 

Taking only a moment to wait for the stable hands to begin attending to his horse, Alnesr then turned and swiftly followed Altaïr from the stables.

 

They two made their way quickly up the path through the village that Masyaf stood guard over, and Alnesr found that he could not help but to wonder what their next mission would entail. Yes, it was true that every man that they had killed had seemed to present their own actions – the actions that had drawn the blades of the Brotherhood to them in the first place – as being in the service to some greater good, it was plain to anyone who had seen the results of such actions that they were merely deluding themselves.

 

No, it was not the views that such men had of their actions that gave him pause for thought, but how similar the words he had overheard from all of them were in the end. Each of them had spoken of a new world, one that those they were abusing were being fitted to take their place within. It could not have been a mere coincidence that their words matched so well, and so Alnesr determined that he would consult with the Master about these matters.

 

Provided that Altaïr himself did not bring such matters up first; of course, then he would merely contribute to the conversation.

 

Soon enough, they had passed through the village – with all of the people there as pleased to see them as they ever were – and were headed up the path that would take them back into the fortress. The sun was just beginning to climb to its zenith in the sky as he and Altaïr made their way up the smoothly-winding path that lead to the fortress itself, and Alnesr pulled his hood down slightly to shade his eyes from the light that was beginning to shine more powerfully down on them.

 

Entering the cool darkness of Masyaf once more, Alnesr allowed himself to release the last of the tension that he had been harboring ever since he and Altaïr had made their journey out of Masyaf on the trail of William de Montferrat; he did not think that Altaïr would rebuke him for such a thing, but he had never truly felt comfortable outside the walls of the fortress or the environs of the surrounding village.

 

Following Altaïr up the stairs and through the halls that would take them up to Master Mualim’s study, Alnesr found his thoughts circling back to the words of the men whose lives he and Altaïr had ended. Each and every one of them had spoken of nearly the same thing; their particular words may have differed, but the spirit behind them had always been the same. All of them had spoken as though they were the vanguards of a new world, speaking of it in those very terms, and Alnesr could not deny the curiosity he felt.

 

Truly, men who had no connection to one another would not speak such similar words.


	35. Ends and beginnings

“Come,” the Master said, as he and Altaïr reentered his study. “Speak with me a moment.”

 

“As you wish, Master,” he said, and heard Altaïr echoing the sentiment beside him.

 

“Word has reached me of your successes,” the Master said, a small smile on his face. “You both have my gratitude, and that of the realm. Freeing those cities from their corrupt leaders will no doubt promote the cause of peace.”

 

“I am glad to hear that,” he said, briefly taking a moment to compose himself; Alnesr knew it would be some time yet before he was completely comfortable speaking so plainly to the Master. “However, if you would permit me to ask something of you?”

 

“Speak, my child, and I will give you what answers you need.”

 

“Each of the men whose lives either Altaïr or I have taken spoke strange words in their last moments,” he said. “The words themselves have been similar enough that I’ve come to wonder if there is a connection between them. Do you know if there might be?”

 

The Master smiled gently, seeming rather pleased. “It is good that you notice such things, child; as an Assassin, it is your duty to take note of what occurs around you, and to thereby be better prepared for the tasks you will undertake in the future.”

 

“Thank you, Master,” he said, pleased by the compliment that he’d been offered.

 

“I cannot help but notice that you failed to failed to answer his question, Master,” Altaïr interjected, drawing his attention as well as the Master’s own.

 

“True,” the Master allowed, and Alnesr could not help but note that he seemed at least mildly displeased. “However, as Assassins, it is your duty to trust in your Master, and to still such thoughts before they can take root. For there can be no _true_ peace without order, and order stems from authority.”

 

“You speak in circles, Master,” Altaïr said, an exasperated tone in his voice that Alnesr had never before heard directed at Master Mualim. “You commend us for being aware, and then command us not to be. Which is it?”

 

“Such a question will be answered when you’ve no longer the need to ask it,” the Master said, his tone firm.

 

Altaïr sighed harshly. “I presume you’ve summoned us here for more than simply a lecture.”

 

“Yes,” the Master said, and Alnesr could not quite place the emotion in his tone. He would have said that Master Mualim was pleased, but there was something else, too. “Altaïr, a rank and weapon are restored to you now. Two more leaders remain; go and see to it that their rule is ended, as well.” The Master paused a moment, the expression on his face becoming thoughtful once more, though he also seemed to have decided something. “You also no longer need operate under the watch of a superior.”

 

For a moment, though he knew that such a thing was inevitable since Assassins worked alone for the most part unless they were Master and Apprentice, Alnesr felt almost stricken. Banishing those thoughts as soon as he consciously noticed them, Alnesr turned his attention back to Master Mualim. He did not know just what the Master would have planned for him now, now that he and Altaïr would not be sent out on missions together anymore, but as the Master had said, that was for him to decide.

 

“Altaïr, I would have you return to Damascus; the next man to fall shall be the Merchant King, Abu’l Nuqoud.”

 

“Yes, Master,” Altaïr said, bowing respectfully to the Master, though Alnesr thought for a moment that there was a tightness around his mentor’s eyes that had not been present before. But Altaïr left swiftly and without a look back, and so Alnesr put such musings out of his mind.


	36. Empty truths

“Come, child; I would speak with you,” the Master said, and Alnesr turned to see him making his way back toward his desk.

 

“Of course, Master,” he said, turning to make his own way toward Master Mualim’s desk. “What might-”

 

And suddenly, there was only the light…

 

_~AC1~_

 

Reestablishing all of the bonds that the Apple had laid upon the mind of Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr, Rashid paused for a moment to look upon his work. Yes, he still needed to choose a new name for the child – something that would hold no connection to his Assassin past – but for the moment he could afford to regain his bearings. Using the Apple was not something that one should do lightly, but then he was not one to take the life of a child – even Assassin-raised as Alnesr had been – lightly in any case.

 

Reaching out, Rashid gently pushed the child’s white hood back, revealing the soft, short silver hair that the boy had been forced to keep hidden from the world for fear of what the attention of that world might mean for him.

 

“You’ll have no more need to hide yourself in the new world that I will create, my child,” he said, cupping the little one’s chin even in spite of the fact that he walked within the light of the Apple now, and hence was beyond all such Earthly cares. “However, for now come along; there are some matters that I would have attended to before you rest.”

 

Leading the boy out of his study, Rashid guided him gently toward one of the fountains within his private garden. Once the two of them stood before it, Rashid took the child’s hands in his own and dipped them into the water. Immersing them within the stream, Rashid cupped some of the water within his own and ran it over the child’s hands so that he could aid in cleansing them further.

 

Yes, he knew that the child had clearly attended to his own needs while he had been assigned as Altaïr’s partner, but the blood on his hands would not be cleared away so easily.

 

While the child’s hands rested under the stream of water, Rashid took care to remove the Hidden Blade that he had granted to the boy before he had known of the child’s true nature. He could do nothing about the severed finger, and while he grieved for the boy’s maiming, the action he had taken was in the past and so could not be undone. He would simply have to see that the child adapted to his new circumstances.

 

Still, there remained the matter of Altaïr; the Assassin cared for the boy in his own way, and so it would be all the more important that he be kept busy so he would not have time to wonder about where the child was. And also so that he would be able to deal with the remaining members of Rashid’s former circle. His fellow Templars would not fall easily; he would have to trust in Altaïr’s skill, as well as his own in keeping the Assassin from becoming overly suspicious of his motives.

 

Guiding the former Assassin with his right hand gently placed between the boy’s shoulder blades, Rashid took care to ensure that the two of them were not seen by any of the other Assassins within the fortress. He would need to deal with them later, yes; if only so that they would not attempt to interfere with his plans for creating a new world. But Rashid knew he had the time he needed to be subtle in his actions.

 

He had the time he needed to do things properly.

 

Once he and the child had returned to his study – he would need to think upon a new name for him, before he could begin to properly detach the boy from his former life – Rashid considered for a long moment just where he would settle the boy for the time being. Taking the child’s hands within his own, feeling again that pang of sorrow when he touched the stump of the child’s right ring finger, Rashid lead the boy back to his quarters and settled him gently upon his bed.

 

Smoothing the child’s silver hair back, Rashid gently closed his eyes, shielding their strange glow from sight, and also giving the appearance that he was merely asleep.

 

Leaving the child to what rest he would take when his mind was safely within the light of the Apple, Rashid turned and made his own way back to his study. There were still matters that needed attending to, and for that he would need to take up Al Mualim once more. He was pleased to know, however, that such would not be the case forever.


	37. The Vessel

When the light had engulfed him, just after the Master had spoken those strange words to him, Alnesr had found himself in a strange place. Or perhaps it was not a place at all, and he was merely trapped inside his own mind.

 

_“It would, indeed, seem that all things come together in the end.”_

 

Whipping around as quickly as he could, attempting to find the source of the strange voice that he had only just heard, Alnesr could only see the light that stretched for an endless distance all around him.

 

_“Of course, this is not the end; this is merely the beginning.”_

 

Alnesr thought that he was walking, but the environment around him did not change even in the slightest, so there was no way for him to tell where he was attempting to go. There was only the light; the endless light that stretched away from him, obscuring everything that he might have otherwise have tried to search for.

 

_“I will enjoy meeting with you, once our paths cross again, Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr.”_

 

He would have demanded to know just how this strange man, for no woman could have a voice so deep, knew his name, but for the fact that he was still wandering within the light. There were no points of reference; no way for him to determine if he was moving or not, and no way to know where he might have been headed. And, once the strange man had fallen silent, there was no way for him to track the man who had been saying such strange things to him.

 

The light seemed to pulse around him; and as strange a thought as that was, it was even stranger to see. For just a few moments, Alnesr could see a myriad of lines of light surrounding him; as though he was within a net that had been constructed purely out of such. It was not a thing that he would have ever thought possible, and yet it was indeed what he was seeing here and now.

 

Granted, as this place did not seem to be a place at all, rather merely something within his own mind that he was trapped within by the same light that seemed to prevent him from making any movements at all, no matter how much he might have desired to do such.

 

There were no more words from the man who had spoken to him, strange and cryptic though they may have been, so there was little chance of him finding the man so that he could have the curiosity that he was now prey to assuaged. For a moment, Alnesr wondered what Altaïr would have done if he had been in such a situation himself. He could not know if his mentor – his former Master – would have been able to find the man who seemed to hide within the light, but he liked to think so.

 

He knew that it was unseemly, to think so highly of a man who was as fallible as any other, and yet Alnesr found himself comforted by such thoughts. He would wait, then; this light could not be all that was left of the world; he would will through it, as any Assassin would. He would not dishonor himself nor the Brotherhood by succumbing to fear.


	38. Walking alone

When he arrived back in Damascus once more, Altaïr found himself almost instinctively looking for Alnesr at his side when he dismounted. Sternly, he reminded himself once more that the Master had ended their association as both Master and Apprentice, and also the odd partnership that they had formed when Altaïr had regained such rank as he possessed now. It was the Master’s prerogative to do such, and as Altaïr continued to remind himself whenever such thoughts came to him, their association could not have lasted forever in any case.

 

Even as Master and Apprentice, they would have been separated eventually when Alnesr had taken his own place among the ranks of the Brotherhood.

 

There were far more pressing matters that he needed to attend to, however, so after a moment to examine them Altaïr put such thoughts as those aside.

 

Making his way closer to the proud city before him, Altaïr paused for only a moment to consider just how he would gain entrance to the city as he needed to do at the moment. Seeing a group of scholars slowly making their way towards the entrance, Altaïr smoothly blended with them and allowed the men to cover his own approach. He could hear the cries of merchants attempting to sell their wares, and others speaking all around him as he and his concealing group of scholars made their way steadily into Damascus.

 

Once he was safely out of sight of the guards at the entrance, Altaïr broke off from the men whose bodies had acted to shelter him while he moved, and entered Damascus in earnest.

 

He had previously made contact with the leader of Damascus’ Bureau, and he was not at all fond of the man. In light of that, Altaïr decided that he would get this particular meeting done as quickly as he could manage. It was with some amusement that he thought of Alnesr’s presence, of how the younger Assassin would chastise the man when his subtle disparagement would become too noticeable, and would hence allow Altaïr himself to appear unfazed by such insolence as the Rafiq of Damascus would offer him.

 

It was, then, with some small regret mixed with good-humor that Altaïr pushed thoughts of Alnesr from his mind; the younger Assassin was not here, his former Apprentice was not beside him, and hence could not deflect the attention of the insolent Bureau leader.

 

Making his way deeper into the city, Altaïr flitted through crowds with all the skill that he had spent years developing, and had soon made his way up to the rooftops and then to the Bureau itself. He was not entirely pleased to have to contend with the insolent Rafiq once more, but as he descended into the receiving room of Damascus’ Bureau once more, Altaïr put such thoughts aside once again.

 

Now was not a time to think of his own comforts.

 

“Altaïr, welcome! Welcome!” the Rafiq called out, false friendship ringing in his tone more strongly than any Altaïr had heard from any of those he had encountered before. Even Abbas’ bitterness and hatred was at least _honest_. “Whose life do you come to collect today?”

 

“His name is Abu’l Nuqoud,” he said, maintaining his calm as well as he could manage in the face of the insincere friendship that Damascus’ Rafiq offered to him. “What can you tell me about him?”

 

“Oh, the Merchant King of Damascus,” the Rafiq exclaimed; Altaïr did not know whether his enthusiasm was entirely feigned, but he was unwilling to trust it in any case. “Richest man in the city; quite exciting. And quite dangerous, too. I envy you, Altaïr… well, not the bit where you were beaten and stripped of your rank… or the part where you were put to work under the supervision of a boy eleven years your junior… But I envy everything else. Oh… save for the terrible things the other Assassins say about you. But yes, aside from the failure, and the hatred and the humiliation, I envy you a great deal.”

 

“I do not care what the others think, nor what they say,” he stated, musing for a moment as to how the Rafiq would react if Altaïr were to strike him across the face for his disrespectful words and tone. But no; Altaïr quickly mastered himself, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of bringing about such a reaction from him. “I am here to do a job. So I ask again: what can you tell me about the Merchant King?”

 

“Only that he must be a very bad man, if Al Mualim has sent you to see him,” the Rafiq said, still in that insolent tone of his. “He keeps to his own kind, wrapped in the finery of this city’s noble district. A busy man; always up to something. I’m sure if you spend some time amongst his type, you’ll learn all you need to know about him.”

 

“And where would you have me begin my search?” he asked.

 

“If I were you, I’d start with Omayyad Mosque, and Souk Sarouja; both of which are west of here,” the Rafiq said. “Farther to the northwest is Salah Al’din’s citadel. It is a popular meeting spot, and has proved a reliable source of loose tongues in the past. Yes; these three places should certainly serve your needs.”

 

“My thanks for your guidance, Rafiq,” he said, with the same courtesy that he’d not been honestly offered in this place since his work had begun. “I’ll return when I have gathered the necessary information.”

 

Altaïr wondered for a moment if there was truly a reason for that, or if this Rafiq was simply not one who was or had ever been well-disposed toward him. However, such thoughts were merely idle musings, and so he put them aside once more. He’d far more important matters to attend to, and hence he turned and made his way back out to the entrance room of Damascus’ Bureau.

 

Climbing up onto the ornamental fountain once more, Altaïr swiftly made his way back to the rooftops.

 

Standing for a few moments in the open air and winds, Altaïr turned his path westward, toward those places that Damascus’ Rafiq had indicated would be of interest to him. He would also need to reorient himself, as the last time that he’d been to Damascus had been a rather long time ago, and he’d done much since then. There would also, doubtless, be other matters that he would be called on to attend to within that selfsame district.

 

It was for that reason that, for only a few moments, Altaïr found himself missing Alnesr’s presence for a purely practical reason.

 

Making his way up the side of a tall tower that stood over Damascus with the mien of a sentry over the city at large, Altaïr looked as far as he could manage for as long as he could safely manage. Leaping into a nearby pile of hay once he had managed to take in the lay of the city once more, Altaïr made his way back into the crowds of Damascus as they milled to and fro.

 

As he continued on his way deeper into the Rich District, Altaïr continued moving farther west. It would not be such a simple matter, this time, to procure the information that he sought without finding himself constantly thinking back over the times that Alnesr would aid him with certain tasks that needed attending to.

 

Forcing those thoughts back and out of his mind with only slightly more effort than he had been required to use in the past, Altaïr continued forward; his true task in this, as in all things, was to continue forward.


	39. Distant Reminiscence

As he moved through the city, making his way west, so that he could investigate the indicated places, Altaïr began to hear the soft sounds of far-off people speaking. As he passed by the Madrasah Al-Kallasah, he saw that those who had been speaking were in fact scholars; they were not speaking of either him or Nuqoud, and yet the content of their speech troubled him enough that Altaïr halted nearby to listen.

 

“Citizens, bring forth your writings,” the foremost of the scholars in the group he was observing said, speaking loudly and clearly for the benefit of all those who might be listening. “Place them in the pile before me. To keep any is a sin; know and embrace the truth of my words. Free yourselves from the lies and corruption of the past.”

 

While he still had his orders to discover the crimes committed by Nuqoud against the citizenry, he could not but admit to a definite curiosity; it was another group that seemed to see with eyes turned toward the future. Or perhaps this group was not quite so other, after all.

 

Another of the scholars spoke, then: “If you truly value piece, if you _truly_ wish to see an end to war, give up your books, your scrolls, and your manuscripts. For they all feed the flames of ignorance and hatred.”

 

It was not a thing that he could spare the time to investigate, not at the moment in any case, and yet Altaïr could not help but to think that he would soon be called upon to deal with the master of those particular scholars soon enough.

 

Putting such thoughts out of his mind so that he could focus once more, Altaïr turned back to the path that he had been making west. Soon enough, Altaïr found himself truly within the rich district of Damascus once more. He also found himself coming among a group of citizens in a busy thoroughfare; citizens who were discussing something of rather pressing interest to him. Pleased, Altaïr settled himself down on a nearby bench to hear what they had to say.

 

“The last of it has been delivered,” one of them reported; he was a large, imposing man dressed in a sleeveless dark-brown tunic and leggings of the same color, possessed of a bald pate and sparse beard.

 

“Good,” the man he was clearly reporting to said; he was shorter than the first man, and wore dulled, bluish-gray robes, as well as having a full head of hair and a much fuller beard. “Make sure he also knows that it wasn’t easy arranging a shipment like this,” the man made a wide, impatient seeming sweep of his arms.

 

“It’s only wine,” the first man countered. “Some can be fickle in their faith.”

 

“Your holy book says something on the subject, I believe: leave them that they may eat and enjoy themselves, and that hope may beguile them. For they will soon know, and never did we destroy a town that had in turn made known.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Never mind,” the second man said, his tone quick and impatient. “Be about your business.”

 

“As you wish,” the first man said, and the two swiftly parted to melt back into the crowd.

 

Rising from his seat after the two men were no longer within his sight, Altaïr briefly considered what he had heard. It seemed as though the Merchant King was preparing some kind of festivities; naturally, the wine would just be the start of it. Best he found out more, then. Continuing on his way through Damascus’ teaming rich district, Altaïr found another likely pair – their garb once more marking them as those who would work for a man who was rich enough to be called Merchant King – and settled himself down on a nearby bench to overhear what he could.

 

“There’s a problem,” reported a man dressed in jaunty, bright yellow robes, with a pate as bald as the first man he’d overheard. “I need your advice.”

 

“What is it?” the one he was speaking to; a woman dressed in dark clothes, Altaïr noted.

 

“This morning, I went to hang the lanterns for the party.”

 

“And this troubles you, why?” the woman asked.

 

“I forgot to remove the scaffold,” the man said, sounding profoundly embarrassed for such an oversight; Altaïr allowed himself the smallest of smiles.

 

“Forgot it where?”

 

“Just outside the Merchant King’s quarters; above the balcony.” _Better and better,_ Altaïr mused, pleased to have something go so right. “Wha-what if it falls? He could be hurt!”

 

“Too late to do anything about it now,” the woman said philosophically. “Just hope it isn’t noticed. You can deal with it tomorrow.”

 

Taking a moment to give thanks for the inattentiveness of hirelings, Altaïr stood from the bench and calmly melted back into the crowd himself, eyes and ears still trained for whatever other information might reveal itself to him through the loose tongues of those who had been entrusted with it. As he walked by a river, channeled neatly through an ornamental drainage canal, Altaïr gave an involuntary shudder of distaste.

 

He knew how to swim, yes – as all Assassins knew how to cope with dangerous situations that they might encounter on their travels – but he disliked being immersed in water over his head all the same.

 

Putting thoughts such as those out of his mind, Altaïr continued on his way through Damascus, eyes, ears, and mind alert for any new information that he might have been able to find. The streets were, as always, filled with citizens intent on their various activities; all of them rushing to and fro with the kind of restless self-importance that all civilians seemed to have. Altaïr moved through them, soft and unnoticed as a shadow; just the way that he had been taught to do during the many years that he had spent under the tutelage of Master Mualim.

 

And just as he had taught Alnesr in his turn.

 

It was becoming simpler, the longer he was away, not to focus so much of his attention on the younger Assassin’s absence. Part of that, he knew, was simply the fact that he had another mission to concern himself with once more. Finding out what he needed, so that he would be able to cope with whatever unpleasantness that he would be faced with when he at last moved to claim the life of the Merchant King, occupied most of the attention that he would have otherwise spent on musing about his fellow Assassin’s health and wellbeing.

 

Such things were rather unseemly now, now that Alnesr had taken his own place among the ranks of the Brotherhood.

 

Breathing out slowly, even as he continued on his way through Damascus’ rich district, Altaïr put such thoughts as those out of his mind once more. He would need to focus on the task before him; he still needed the information that Nuqoud’s people provided him with. Keeping his eyes and ears open for any other information that he could gather from Nuqoud’s inattentive workers, or else those who knew of him and yet did not think to guard their tongues, Altaïr continued deeper into the rich district.

 

His eyes swept over the people moving to and fro before him, taking them in and then dismissing most as they were intent upon their own business. Then, Altaïr found his gaze drawn to another form; this one wearing the concealing robes of an Informant. He’d not had dealings with many of them; even before he’d taken on Alnesr as his Apprentice he’d found their tasks onerous, and after that of course he’d left the entire task of gathering information to his former Apprentice.

 

Now, of course, neither option remained open to him.

 

He found the man standing in a doorway, the slanting sun casting sharp-edged shadows across his form. The Informant was the one who initiated their conversation: “Altaïr, my friend, my brother! It’s been such a long time! Have you had any news of Adha since she left?”

 

Turning a narrowed gaze upon the Informant, Altaïr watched as the man’s own gaze lowered in response.

 

“No? How sad. I’m sure you’ll find her someday.” Altaïr swiftly wiped the emotion from his face; though he still wondered at times what Adha would have made of Alnesr, now was hardly the time to think of such things. “I’ve heard that a feather is lying on top of Abu’l Nuqoud’s head,” the Informant continued, his former joviality seemingly restored. “Maybe I could help you; however, I have a mission of my own: there are four targets I must eliminate before noon. Let’s cooperate, just like old times! Two for you, two for me? They are Abu’l Nuqoud’s personal guards; you will spot them in minutes!” _Perhaps less than that,_ Altaïr reflected; he had ways of finding men in a crowd.

 

He allowed a small smile to come to his lips; true, he was still rather less than partial toward Informants and the missions they offered, this one’s task was far less onerous than most. With only a nod and a small smile shared between each other, Altaïr parted from the Informant and made his way back into the streets. It was clear to him, from the words of the Informant before the two of them had parted ways, that these men would all be simple to single out in some manner or other.

 

Still, when information such as this was at stake, Altaïr honestly preferred not to take the chance that it would be lost so easily.

 

His stalking of the men took Altaïr to the rooftops, where there were substantially fewer eyes upon him and he could act with something that at least approached impunity. Narrowing his eyes as he concentrated on the men he aimed to find, Altaïr watched as the world was once more washed of color; the men he was seeking stood out in bright shades of red among the colorless forms of the crowds they could no longer hide within. Drawing his throwing knives, Altaïr took only a few moments to target them, before letting his weapons fly and watching the men that he had targeted fall, the red glow of their forms winking out in nearly an instant.

 

Turning, Altaïr made his way back to the ground, so that he could meet up with the Informant and they could at last speak to one another properly.

 

Making his journey back to the building where he had first met up with the Informant, Altaïr noted that the man himself was also making his own way back to the building where the two of them had met. Pleased to know that he would not be forced to wait for any longer than he absolutely had to. Sweeping the street with his gaze and finding that there was no one around close enough to observe their actions, Altaïr casually made his way back to the building, pausing within the door to wait for the Informant to find him once more.

 

“Wasn’t that great?!” Though the Informant’s face was naturally concealed by his dull-colored garb, Altaïr could tell that the man was smiling. “Just like in Alep. You remember? Here’s something I found on one of the Merchant King’s men; I think it’s a map of where he has stationed his guards. I’m sure it will come in handy during your mission.” The Informant paused, the tilt of his head suggesting that he was smiling once more. “Anytime you’re in Damascus, come see me; you know that my door is always open, to you and Alnesr both. Safety and peace, my friend.”

 

“Upon you, as well,” he said, turning at last as he departed from the area where he had met up with the man and made his way back towards the milling crowds within Damascus’ rich district.

 

Walking among the citizens once more, Altaïr narrowed his eyes slightly and saw the world washed free of color once more. He did not prefer to rely on such a skill too often, but he knew also that as with all skills it would not do to lose such a skill for the lack of using it. He allowed the other sight to fade, bringing back all of the colors that had been washed out by the strange second sight that only he and Alnesr could be definitely said to possess; so far as he knew at least

 

He sometimes wondered if any others possessed such a second-sight as he and Alnesr did.


	40. Return to Damascus

The sounds of the city wrapped around him once more, and Altaïr again began to listen for mentions of Nuqoud in conversations that he might happen to be privy to as he continued on his way.

 

“It is an honor to serve,” said a darker skinned man in a bright yellow robe said. “What do you require?”

 

“The letter I have given you must be presented to Salah Al’din in his camp,” the man he was speaking to, mostly out of sight behind a decorative pillar, said calmly. “Seek out the one they call Hisham; he will be able to help. But tell no one else of this,” the other man said, and Altaïr furrowed his brow as he saw the other man, dressed in paler clothes than the one he was meeting with, lean out from behind the pillar to speak this last part more directly to the man he was meeting with; his tone low and conspiratorial.

 

“None will know of my mission,” the man in yellow assured the one that he was meeting with.

 

“Then our business here is concluded,” the man behind the pillar said calmly.

 

The man in yellow parted from the man who had once been behind the pillar, and Altaïr smoothly flowed into step just a few paces behind the man in yellow. Falling into step with the man in yellow, Altaïr swiftly took what he needed from him, and then blended once more into the milling crowds before the man in yellow could even think to raise an alarm. Quickly glancing over the letter when he had a free moment, Altaïr found that it detailed the plans that Nuqoud had for a celebration within his own home.

 

Altaïr smiled thinly; there were times when circumstances seemed to be arranged so perfectly for the work he needed to do, that he wondered if there were indeed a higher power who watched over such things. It was not a concept he considered often, given the things that he had seen during the course of his work for the Brotherhood, but at times such as these it was an easy thing to muse upon.

 

Turning his attention back outward once more, carefully tucking the stolen letter away so that he would not be at the risk of losing it, Altaïr continued on his search for information. He knew that, while he was perfectly capable of operating at the level of information he possessed at this moment, Altaïr would not allow himself to become so lax as to simply accept a level of information that could only be defined as adequate.

 

Perhaps it could be considered a flaw, but Altaïr would not settle for mere adequacy when he could properly complete a mission to his own standards.

 

Moving back into the crowds once more, Altaïr matched the pace of the citizens and kept his ears open for any conversation that might carry the name of his target within it; such were the ways that an Assassin could use to gather useful information when he – or else she, but female Assassins had a way about them that told those who knew to look what they were capable of – needed it. Continuing on his way through Damascus, Altaïr paused for a moment as he saw a group of guards making their way past. Observing the attitudes of the citizens in this area, Altaïr adopted the same pose of indifference and dismissal as they passed on their way.

 

It seemed only natural that those at this level of society would have no care for such matters; at least, not until such things _became_ a concern.

 

Moving on once the last of the guards had gone beyond his sight, Altaïr continued forward until, yet again, he found himself catching sight of the familiar gray-garbed form of an Informant. This one was standing at the back of a rather plain courtyard, just in front of a small, unkempt stand of determinedly-growing weeds.

 

“Safety and peace,” the man, whose voice was not familiar to Altaïr, greeted with an indifferent sort of cordiality. “You want information about the city, I suppose? Right now, I don’t have so much time, I must find a shipment of cloth that the merchant I bought it from seems to have mislaid. But, in this heat, I am afraid I have not been able to search as long as I might have otherwise. Would you be kind enough to help me?” he gave the Informant a look of indifference – though inwardly he wondered, with some sense of exasperated amusement, if Alnesr had ever been asked to perform such inane tasks – and the man swiftly continued. “Return with the cloth, and I shall help you as best I may.”

 

Resisting the urge to laugh for being given such a task, though he knew that not all of Masyaf’s own craftsmen were capable of supplying such fine wares as could be purchased outside of the city, Altaïr made his way out of the courtyard and over to a merchant stall that was clearly selling bolts of cloth and other such things that one might use to make and repair clothes. Speaking to the merchant once the man had finished serving another customer, Altaïr found that the man had merely been waiting on a delivery from one of his own suppliers that had made a simple mistake.

 

Returning to the Informant with the bolt of cloth that the man had previously purchased, Altaïr watched the man’s entire demeanor change. “Thank you. The Rafiq will be pleased to have this at last. Perhaps this morsel of information will help you: I was invited by Abu’l to one of his lavish parties. I noticed the fountain in the middle of the Merchant King’s palace could be easily climbed. Use this information wisely.” The Informant bowed slightly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must deliver this to the Rafiq. Safety and peace, brother.”

 

“Upon you, as well,” he said, as the Informant turned to leave with his burden.

 

Making his way back into the main thoroughfare of Damascus’ rich district, Altaïr continued on the path that he had chosen for himself, eyes and ears open once more for any mentions of the Merchant King or other matters pertaining to what the man might have been planning. The words of the citizens around him might have easily blended into incomprehensibility for someone with lesser training, but as Altaïr was a Master Assassin, he was not one to fall prey to such lapses.

 

Calmly scanning the slowly-moving crowd, each of them going to some destination known only to themselves, Altaïr continued to listen for any mentions of his current target.

 

He would not seek to rest upon his laurels when there was still information that he could seek out; though there might not be so much more to find as he thought. He would be appreciative of such a thing; to have this task done so that the people of Damascus might no longer suffer under the cruel whims of a capricious tyrant. Pressing deeper into the city’s rich district, Altaïr began to hear the voice of a man speaking the praises of Nuqoud to anyone who would listen. And even those who would simply pass him by on the way to another destination.

 

Turning his attention toward the man making such effulgent praises, Altaïr found that the man had the air of a hireling rather than one who would speak out on another’s behalf from a movement of their own heart.

 

After the man had finished with his oratory and had begun to move on, likely as not to another open square where he would make the exact speech that he had done in this very courtyard; as any hireling would do when they were being properly paid, Altaïr followed him. The blind alley that the two of them ended up walking into would serve the purpose that Altaïr needed it to, he decided; and so he moved. Slamming his right fist into the back of Nuqoud’s hireling, Altaïr knocked the man to one knee.

 

He was then forced to dodge, as the man whipped himself about like a serpent, lashing out in his own defense. Altaïr was pleased to note, in a distant sort of way as he bent his skills to his own defense, that Nuqoud’s hireling had not thought to bring any weapons to this confrontation. He did not relish the thought of being knifed when he was attempting to subdue this man.

 

At last, Altaïr found that he had managed to subdue Nuqoud’s hireling to the point where the man was – if not _pleased_ about the prospect – at least willing to speak to him.

 

“I’ll talk. I’ll talk! I’ve no interest in dying for him. His coin’s not worth my life,” the hireling said.

 

“A wise decision,” he replied.

 

“What is it you want?”

 

“I’ve business with the Merchant King.”

 

The hireling laughed, the sound akin to a dog’s bark. “Good luck with _that_! He rarely leaves his chambers.”

 

“Why?” he demanded. “Is he afraid?”

 

“Not fear: hate,” the hireling said, speaking as if this were something he _knew_ to be true. “He hates himself almost as much as he hates the people he pretends to serve.” The orator – the hireling – had been slammed down rather hard against the ground rear where the two of them had fought. “Locks himself away in his personal quarters out of _shame_.”

 

“He can’t stay hidden forever,” he observed, knowing such for a fact, given everything that he had seen.

 

“No,” the hireling agreed. “Those celebrations of his, he comes out to speak; to look down upon the people. A sense of belonging, I suppose. However brief.”

 

“What’s wrong with him, that he would hide like this?” he asked, curious both about Nuqoud’s motives as well as what his hireling would choose to say about him.

 

Nuqoud’s hireling chuckled, his dark amusement with the situation rather more than obvious. “You’ll see.” He became more serious after he had spoken, however. “Now let me go.”

 

It was Altaïr’s turn to chuckle; his own dark amusement no less than that of the hireling he was confronting. “Let you go? So you can tell him of my plan?”

 

“I won’t say a thing!” the hireling rushed to reassure him.

 

“No; you won’t,” he said coldly, swiftly ending the life of Nuqoud’s hireling so that he could move on from this place.


	41. The Merchant King

Moving away from the blind alley where he had made this latest kill of his, Altaïr paused a moment when he had at last put a comfortable amount of distance between himself and the corpse of Nuqoud’s hireling. He had, indeed, gathered a respectable amount of information; even enough that such a man as the Rafiq who worked in the Bureau here was not likely to be able to gainsay him.

 

With such a thing in mind, his decision of whether or not to attempt to continue his investigations among the people of Damascus became far more simple than they had once been.

 

Turning his path back toward the Bureau within Damascus, Altaïr swiftly regained the rooftops on his journey. It was not such a long time before he came within sight of the rooftop entrance to the Bureau itself, and not much longer after that that he stood upon the same roof as that entrance. Climbing back down into the secondary room of the building, Altaïr stepped down off of the ornamental fountain and found himself almost pausing for a moment to wait for Alnesr to join him back on the ground.

 

Shaking his head at his own folly, Altaïr made his way into the main room of Damascus’ Bureau and found himself facing the insolent leader of the Damascus Bureau once more; he was not pleased to have to deal with the man alone, yes, but this was a necessary step to being done with this newest task of his. He would bear up under it as he ever did.

 

“Peace be upon you, Altaïr. How may I serve you?”

 

“I’ve done as asked, and learned all I need to know about my prey,” he said calmly, pleased at least to know that he would only need endure the Rafiq’s insolent expressions rather than his words.

 

“Then you must share your knowledge with me,” the man said.

 

“Abu’l Nuqoud is corrupt to the core, and despised by his own citizens as a result,” he said, speaking calmly so that he would give this man no reason to speak to him in the way he once had; and likely would otherwise. “It appears he’s been stealing money from the people of Damascus and spending it on himself. Even as we speak, he flaunts his greed, preparing for a lavish party. His guards and servants should have their hands full dealing with the guests; they won’t even know I’m there.”

 

“Most impressive, my friend,” the Rafiq said. “The others said you’d make a mess of things, but not I. No, I was _sure_ you’d come through. And come through you have. The Bureau is yours to do with as you wish for as long as you need.”

 

More insolence; Altaïr fought to keep any trace of emotion from his face as he took the feather that the man had fetched for him.

 

Turning without another word, Altaïr left the front room of the Bureau and made his way back out into the sleeping area that he had once used during the time when he and Alnesr had both stayed here. Settling himself down under the cover of the swiftly-settling dusk, Altaïr slept for a time.

 

When he awoke, feeling refreshed as he ever did after a time of repose, Altaïr made his way up to the ornamental fountain and then back out of the Bureau once more. Standing for a moment upon the rooftops as he looked out over them, Altaïr took a breath and then began making for the place where he would at last be able to come to grips with Nuqoud. To end the suffering that he had inflicted on the people of Damascus with his depredations.

 

Passing over the rooftops that stood between him and the stronghold of the Merchant King, Altaïr dealt with those few archers who were unfortunate enough to cross his path in a way that he could not pass them by in some way that kept him out of their sight.

 

As he moved ever closer to his present destination, and the ending of this particular excursion, Altaïr began to see more and more signs of the prosperity that Nuqoud hoarded for himself. The increasing numbers of wealthy hangers-on were simply the most visible sign of what the Merchant King had prepared for those he considered his peers; prepared so as to rub the noses of those he considered beneath him in his vast wealth. The scents in the air around him were becoming thicker, those of spices and fine perfumes, exotic meats and drinks.

 

Nuqoud had also ordered a great deal of wine delivered, in clear contravention of his professed faith; Altaïr rather doubted that the man adhered to many other tenets of the faith he professed to have, either.

 

Crossing the remaining rooftops between his location and the place where he would complete his mission, Altaïr descended back to the ground and calmly blended into the crowds making their way into Nuqoud’s  courtyard. He felt slightly out of place, moving among the richly-dressed, opulent guests of Nuqoud in his simple – almost shabby-looking – white robes and red sash. That no one else seemed to take note of his presence was a comfort and a testament to his skills at once.

 

Moving with the ebb and flow of the crowds, Altaïr took note of the servants hurrying to and fro on their errands – carrying plates of delicacies that the milling crowd would sample at their leisure – the dancing girls gyrating slowly to the music being played, and the terrain that he would have to contend with when he finally made his move. As he made his way farther into the well-appointed courtyard, Altaïr soon found himself able to look up at a grand balcony.

 

Standing within the balcony itself was a stern-faced guard with his arms folded, staring impassively out at the revelry taking place beneath his eyes. He rather thought that this was the place where Nuqoud would settle himself, so as to better observe the festivities that he had arranged. A few moments spent observing the balcony from his place within the crowd soon proved him right: as the music swelled to a new, faster tempo, the Merchant King himself appeared on the balcony with a second guard along with him.

 

Altaïr had heard lurid descriptions of the man’s appearance: of his corpulence – as large as three normal men, it had been said – of the gaudy robes and shiny trinkets that he wore, of his bejeweled turban; most of these he had dismissed as the exaggerations of an incensed populous. But, when he saw Nuqoud for the first time, Altaïr found that – if anything – such descriptions that he had heard had been _understated_. His girth, jewelry, and robes were more flagrantly ostentatious than even some of the wilder tales had spoken of.

 

He watched as the man continued to eat whatever delicacy that he had been sampling when he came out onto the balcony, the grease of what had likely as not been some kind of meat dish smeared around his mouth. As Nuqoud finished his food, the front of his robe fell open and revealed his bare chest, the flesh glittering with perspiration. Clapping his hands, Nuqoud waited a few moments after the music had stopped for the remaining conversation to die down.

 

“Welcome, welcome,” the Merchant King said graciously. “Thank you all for joining me this evening. Please, eat, drink; enjoy all the pleasures that I have to offer.” The Merchant King swept his hand wide over the gathered crowd, and Altaïr took note of the way the ornamental fountain at the center of the courtyard sprang to life; he at first thought that the water within the fountain itself had been colored by some means, but when the attendees of the party all began to flock to that same fountain bearing goblets and an eagerness that Altaïr himself found rather unseemly, he realized that he knew just where the wine shipment that Nuqoud had ordered had been placed. The Merchant King himself seemed to be waiting on his guests to drink their fill, waiting until each and every one of those who had made such a rush to the fountain had supped from it; Altaïr wondered for a moment if it was more than simple courtesy. “I trust everything is to your satisfaction?”

 

The cheering and toasting of all the guests present at the party was all the answer that the Merchant King seemed to need.

 

“Good, good,” Nuqoud beamed, he grinned, revealing bits of food between his teeth. “It pleases me to see you all so happy. For these are dark days, my friends. And we must all enjoy this bounty while we can.” Nearer to where Altaïr was standing, a few of the men who had been toasting Nuqoud returned eagerly to the free-flowing fountain for more wine. Nuqoud continued even as they did so. “War threatens to consume us all. Salah Al’din bravely fights for what he believes in, and you are always there to support him without question. It is your generosity that allows his campaign to continue.”

 

It was with the slight chill of apprehension that Altaïr noted that the galleries above the courtyard were beginning to fill with guards; and, when he looked more closely upon them, Altaïr saw that they were archers.

 

“So, I propose a toast, then,” Nuqoud said, his voice filled with a friendliness that Altaïr was beginning to suspect was entirely false. “To you, my dear friends: who have brought us this far. May you be given everything you deserve for it.”

 

Altaïr did not know precisely what to make of that phrasing, but he could not help but think it ominous.

 

“To your health!” came the cries of the crowd, as the revelers drank deeply from their goblets.

 

“Such kindness,” Nuqoud said, though his tone was now bitter and sarcastic. “I didn’t think it in you. You, who have been so quick to judge me; and so cruelly.” The mutterings of the crowd began to become more distinctly unsettled, more confused. “Oh, do not feign ignorance. Do you take me for a fool? That I have not heard the words you whisper behind my back? Well, I have; and I fear I can never forget. But this is not why I have called you here tonight. No; I wish to speak more of this war, and your part in it. You give up your coin, quick as can be, knowing all too well that it buys the death of thousands. You don’t even know _why_ we fight. The sanctity of the Holy Land, you’ll say; or else the evil inclinations of our enemies. But these are only lies you tell yourselves. No; all this suffering is born of fear and hate. It bothers you that they are different; just as it bothers you that _I_ am different.”

 

Looking back to the archers now stationed in the galleries, Altaïr turned his gaze to take in the galleries opposite them, and found that they too had been filled with archers; each of them had his gaze trained on the milling crowd that Altaïr was still using to shelter himself, though not one of them had begun to draw their bow. However, he could clearly see that when the time came for them to act, they had the whole of the courtyard covered. Moving closer to the wall he had been standing near, Altaïr noticed that one of the nearby men who had just made a toast to Nuqoud was beginning to splutter and cough, leading to no small amount of amusement for the man standing next to him.

 

“Compassion. Mercy. Tolerance,” Nuqoud continued his tirade, drawing slightly closer to the edge of the balcony. “These words mean nothing to any of you. They mean nothing to those infidel invaders who ravage our lands in search of gold and glory. And so I say _enough_. I’ve pledged myself to another cause, one that will bring about a New World; in which all people might live together in peace.” Altaïr tensed, watching as the archers all around the galleries did the same; those words were disturbingly familiar. “A pity none of you will live to see it.”


	42. Abu’l Nuqoud

Altaïr watched as Nuqoud left, giving the order to his archers to kill anyone attempting to escape; those who had not supped the poisoned wine, and were therefore capable of doing so. Forcing himself to ignore the carnage behind him, Altaïr scaled the wall before him up to the balcony, dispatching the guard who would have otherwise attempted to hinder him with a quick slice of his short-blade across the man’s throat. This, naturally, drew the attention of Nuqoud himself.

 

The Merchant King had been thoroughly enjoying the carnage he had created, and now Altaïr was pleased to note that Nuqoud felt at least _some_ measure of the fear that he had inflicted on those who had been in attendance at this farce of a party; then a measure of their pain, as Altaïr sank his Hidden Blade into the man’s wide neck above the clavicle.

 

“Why have you done this?” Nuqoud asked, already dying as he sank to lay on the smooth stone of his balcony.

 

“You stole money from those you claim to lead,” he said, providing some comfort for the man, though he’d done little to deserve such. “Sent it away for some unknown purpose. I want to know where it’s gone, and why.”

 

“Look at me,” Nuqoud scoffed. “My very nature is an affront to the people I ruled, and these royal robes did little more than muffle their shouts of hate.”

 

“So, this is about vengeance, then,” he stated, wondering what the man would say in response.

 

“No. Not vengeance, but my conscience. How could I finance a war in service to the same God that calls me an abomination?”

 

“If you do not serve Salah Al’din’s cause, then whose?” he asked, wondering if Nuqoud would be the one who finally gave him the answers he sought.

 

However, the Merchant King merely gave a tired, enigmatic smile. “In time, you’ll come to know them. I think, perhaps, you already do.”

 

“Then, why hide?” he asked, puzzled. “And why these dark deeds?”

 

“Is it so different from your own work? You take the lives of men and women, strong in your conviction that their deaths will improve the lot of those left behind. A minor evil for a greater good? We are the same.”

 

“Our methods may resemble each other, but to one who knows our motivations?” Altaïr stated, almost amused to find himself using the tone he had once used for speaking to Alnesr during the younger Assassin’s lessons. “We could hardly be more different.”

 

“Ah, so you say now,” Nuqoud continued, his voice growing quieter as the life left him. “But later, I wonder…” he grinned a last time. “Still, it does not matter: you cannot stop us. We will have our New World.”

 

Abu’l Nuqoud, the Merchant King of Damascus, died with an enigmatic smile on his face and his life’s blood pooling at the right side of his mouth.

 

“May you find the peace in death that eluded you in life,” Altaïr said, gently staining his feather with the Merchant King’s blood.

 

Rising from his crouch before the remaining guards could see his work and think to sound the alarm, Altaïr made his way quickly back to the rooftops so that he could more easily evade those guards that would inevitably be coming once the alarms had started sounding in earnest and those who were assigned to this area found themselves recalled to the posts that he had passed though. At least, those who he had _not_ encountered on his way to this place.

 

Concealing himself within a walled garden as more and yet more archers began scaling ladders placed in this area for them, Altaïr crouched and peered through the delicately carved wood. Watching as the guards and searchers passed out of his sight across the rooftops, Altaïr breathed more easily once they were gone. Rising from his crouch, he scanned the rooftops around him to make certain that they were clear.

 

Turning his path back toward the Bureau once he had determined that his way was indeed clear, Altaïr crossed those rooftops that remained between himself and his new-chosen destination with only a few more encounters with the guards that were now searching for him with more than their usual share of diligence. He dealt with them in the same fashion that he handled the others.

 

He smiled slightly as he began to come into sight of the Bureau’s rooftop entrance, stepping up onto the Bureau’s rooftop and then carefully climbing back down into the back room below. Stepping down from the ornamental fountain, Altaïr breathed more easily now that he was back on safe ground. For all that the insolence of this Rafiq might have irritated him, fighting city guards was far more troublesome than that man could truly hope to be.

 

Removing the stained feather from the pouch on his belt, Altaïr made his way into the main room of the Bureau once more.

 

“Word has reached me of your success, Altaïr,” the Rafiq said.

 

“Abu’l Nuqoud’s reign of terror is at an end,” he reported, pleased to have such a task done with.

 

“I’m glad to hear it,” the Rafiq said, smiling slightly.

 

“He _killed_ them,” Altaïr reported, eyes narrowing at the memory of those revelers – perhaps not all of them innocents, but none of them deserving the deaths that Nuqoud had given them – chocking and foaming as they died. “The men and women at his party; it was poison. A coward’s tool; he blamed _them_ for the war. Said _he_ wished to end it.”

 

“Strange,” the Rafiq said, looking as though the deaths of those people were not quite real to him; perhaps they were not. Whatever the case, he would speak about the missions he was carrying out alone with Alnesr, when the pair of them could find the time to meet once more. “But, then again, the Merchant King was known to be a bit… different. Perhaps this was simply a symptom of his madness.”

 

“Perhaps,” he allowed, not particularly willing to forgive the man such a transgression as what he’d seen this day.

 

“You sound unconvinced,” the Rafiq noted; Altaïr mused that his misgivings about what he had seen, and his desire to discus what he had heard with the Master and Alnesr both, would indeed have combined to make him sound so uncertain. “Speak with Al Mualim, then. He may offer a better explanation.”

 

“Yes, I’ll see what he has to say,” he said, handing over the feather he’s stained with the Merchant King’s blood.

 

Departing from the Bureau’s front room without another word, Altaïr returned to the back room and settled himself amongst the cushions, sheets, and pillows that made up the sleeping area. Closing his eyes, Altaïr breathed deeply and allowed himself to relax as much as any other Assassin would have at last.


	43. Strange words

The next morning, after a sleep that was less restful and more troubled than he would have ever preferred, Altaïr rose and began to make his way out of Damascus once again. He did not know if he would be returning, since such things were at the discretion of Master Mualim and not himself, but if he did he hoped that he would not be returning to such uncertain circumstances as the ones he had been forced to work under here and now. Regaining the rooftops, Altaïr paused a moment to look for archers before continuing on his way.

 

His journey from the city was somewhat more eventful than the one that he had made to get inside, more than likely owing to the fact that the death of Abu’l Nuqoud still remained in the minds of the populous. They did not know – _could_ not know – that the purpose of the Brotherhood was to safeguard them from those who would seek to exploit them for their own selfish ends. He thought it rather sad, at times, that these people would never truly come to know their saviors unless they found themselves entering the Brotherhood itself.

 

Then, he would remember the lessons that Master Mualim had taught him when he was under the man’s tutelage, and he would give no more thought to such things as that.

 

Once he had managed to return within sight of the entrance to Damascus, Altaïr paused for a moment to watch the guards at the gate. They were not the sort to allow anyone so suspicious as he was out under their eyes as long as they stood guard at the gates. He’d been searching long enough to know that there were no scholars close enough to allow him to take shelter within their ranks before he would run the risk of attracting unfriendly attention simply by his sheer immobility.

 

So, gathering himself, Altaïr moved swiftly out of Damascus over the heads of the men guarding the gate. Not a one of them looked up, and so Altaïr allowed himself to breathe more easily as he descended from the wall and stood at ease upon the grassy grounds outside Damascus once again. He stopped a group of men from assaulting a scholar, and then moved to locate the horse he had brought with him from Masyaf.

 

Mounting up once more, Altaïr rode from Damascus and turned his attention to what might be waiting for him at the fortress of the Assassins.

 

He knew that, for all he wished to speak with Alnesr about what the younger Assassin had been doing while he had carried out the missions that the Master had requested of him, he would need to speak to Master Mualim himself before he could truly have any time to himself; both to inform the Master of the results of his mission, and to assuage his uncertainty.

 

Settling himself down next to a tree that leaned out over a small well, Altaïr gave some water to his horse and then had a drink himself. Tying the horse up for the night, Altaïr settled down to rest. Waking refreshed the next morning, he resettled himself upon his horse and continued on. The next five days passed in much the same fashion, though rather more solitarily considering that he was no longer traveling with Alnesr.

 

He wondered again how the younger Assassin was faring.

 

Once he began to come into sight of the valley that Masyaf fortress stood guard over, Altaïr smiled softly as he began to guide his horse back to the stables. He looked forward to speaking with Alnesr about their respective activities during the time that they had been working apart, but before that he would need to make his report to the Master. Leaving his horse at the stables to be taken care of by the attendants, Altaïr swiftly dismounted and began making his way back to the fortress.

 

Rauf waved to him as he passed, and Altaïr returned the greeting as he continued on his way. Entering the fortress once more, he made his way up the stairs and into the Master’s study. As he had been suspecting, Master Mualim was waiting for him.

 

“Come, Altaïr, I would have news of your progress.”

 

“I’ve done as you asked,” he reported. “Abu’l Nuqoud no longer has power over the citizens of Damascus.”

 

“Good. Good,” the Master turned then, his gaze taking in Altaïr’s own face; he wondered what the Master was seeing there. “I sense your thoughts are elsewhere. Speak your mind.”

 

“Each man I’ve been sent to kill speaks cryptic words at the end. Each time, I come to you and speak of what I have heard, and each time you give me only riddles in response. But no more,” he said, resolving to have the uncertainty he had been pushing to the back of his mind for so long as he had been hunting the men on his Master’s list ended.

 

Master Mualim’s white eyebrows raised at once; he was likely surprised to find himself confronted in such a way. Well, he would need to become accustomed, if he wanted Altaïr’s further cooperation. “Who are you to say ‘no more’?”

 

“I’m the one that has done your killing for all this time,” he said, firming his expression as he did the same with his resolve. “If you want it to continue, you’ll speak straight with me for once.”

 

“Tread carefully, Altaïr,” the Master said, a hardness in his voice and expression that had not been present before; Altaïr noted it and set it out of his mind. “I do not like your tone.”

 

“And I do not like your deception,” he stated, forcing himself to sound more calm than he presently felt; he thought of how Alnesr would look to him for guidance, and then acted as though he was still called upon to provide it.

 

“I have offered you the chance to restore your lost honor-”

 

“Not lost,” he interrupted, incensed; not a thing he would have done if Alnesr had truly been here to see his example and take instruction from it, but Altaïr found that he could not manage to hold his silence through such an insult. “Taken; by you. And then you sent me to fetch it again like some damned dog.”

 

The Master’s sword slipped almost silently from its sheath; Altaïr narrowed his eyes slightly. “It seems I’ll need to find another. A shame. You showed such promise.”

 

“So, you would send Alnesr, then? He’s done his share of work, and seems far more willing to work without question than I find myself.” There was something that passed over the Master’s face when he spoke of Alnesr, some expression that Altaïr could only glimpse for the shortest of moments and so could not properly place. “You said that the answer to the questions I had would come when I no longer needed to ask it. So I will not ask; I _demand_ that you tell me what binds these men.”

 

For a few, long moments, Altaïr found himself wondering if the Master would indeed go and fetch Alnesr, if only so as to teach the younger Assassin one of his inscrutable object-lessons. However, once those moments when he was required to await whatever judgment the Master saw fit to give him for what the man considered his continuing insolence, Master Mualim sheathed his blade and seemed to be considering his options. It seemed he was _not_ so eager to begin anew with Alnesr.

 

“What you say is true,” the Master said, relenting at last. “These men are connected, by a blood oath not unlike our own.”

 

“Who are they, then?” he asked, in no great mood for further wordplay now that he had managed to glean at least _some_ answers.

 

“ _Non nobis, Domine, non nobis,_ ” the Master intoned.

 

Altaïr knew _those_ words well. “Templars,” he spat.

 

“Now you know the true reach of Robert de Sable,” the Master said.

 

 _Indeed I do_. “All of these men… Leaders of cities, commanders of armies…” he trailed off, momentarily overcome by the immensity of the task that had seemingly appeared before him.

 

“All pledge allegiance to his cause,” the Master said; Altaïr gathered his scattered thoughts so that he would be able to speak them properly once more.

 

“Their works are not meant to be viewed on their own, are they?” he thought aloud, for both of their benefits. “But as a whole. What do they desire?”

 

“Conquest,” Master Mualim said; it was a simple answer, but one that he’d come to think more and more plausible the more he saw of the men he now knew to call Templars. “They seek the Holy Land; not for God but for themselves.”

 

“What of Richard?” he asked. “Salah Al’din?”

 

“Any who oppose the Templars will be destroyed,” the Master said, his usual calm once more in place. “Be assured that they have the means to accomplish it.”

 

“Then they must be stopped,” he said, feeling a new resolve even as he spoke those words; as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

 

“That is why we do our work, Altaïr: to ensure a future free of such men,” the Master said.

 

“Then, why did you hide the truth from me? Why this evasion?”

 

“That you might pierce the veil yourself,” the Master said, sounding only slightly reproving. “Like any task, knowledge precedes action. Information learned is quite a bit more valuable than information given. Besides,” Master Mualim turned a more reproving expression upon him. “Your behavior had not inspired much confidence,”

 

“I see,” he said, lowering his head; he was almost pleased that Alnesr was not present to see him in such a state as this.

 

The younger Assassin knew well that his once-Master was not entirely without fault; no need for him to repeat such a lesson.

 

“Altaïr, your mission has not changed,” Master Mualim said, his expression becoming merely stern rather than reproving. “Merely the context in which you perceive it.”

 

“And, armed with this knowledge, I might better understand those Templars who remain,” Altaïr said, nodding as he turned over his new knowledge in his mind.

 

The Master nodded, clearly pleased. “Is there anything else you wish to know?”

 

Pausing for a moment, considering just what else that he could ask of the Master while he had the man’s ear, Altaïr had soon made up his mind. “What about the treasure Malik and Alnesr retrieved from Solomon’s Temple? Robert seemed desperate to have it back.”

 

“In time, Altaïr, all will become clear,” Master Mualim said, calm and cryptic as he had ever been. “Just as the role of the Templars has revealed itself to you, so too will the nature of their treasure. For now, take comfort in the fact that it is not in their hands, but ours.”


	44. Uneasy return

Altaïr considered pressing the Master for the meaning of his words, but he knew that he had been fortunate in that the Master had chosen to indulge him. It would be entirely too simple for Master Mualim to decide that he had given out too much information on the subject, and there were other things that he wanted to know, besides.

 

“How does Alnesr fair? Have you sent him on another mission, or may I speak with him?”

 

“I’ve sent him off to gather more information about what Robert and his Templars might be planning, so that – though the two of you now tread separate paths – Alnesr might do what he can to aid in your efforts.”

 

“Thank you for your consideration, Master,” he said, bowing his head in respect to both Master Mualim’s patience, and his consideration in giving aid in what ways he could. “Where would you have me go next?”

 

“Return to Jerusalem once you have taken some rest; Majd Addin awaits you there,” the Master said. “You are restored another rank; take another set of knives, use them to restore honor to the Brotherhood.”

 

“Thank you, Master,” he said, turning to make ready to leave. “I will do as you ask.”

 

_~AC1~_

 

When the Assassin had left him at last, Rashid sighed softly. The boy was becoming rather too inquisitive for both of their good; it would not be long before the Assassin began to think to demand to know where Alnesr was, even in spite of the knowledge that Rashid had offered him. He would not be able to truly provide any more information to the Assassin than the boy himself had already gathered; he’d cut ties with Robert long ago, and hence knew very little about the activities of the Templars in the present.

 

He could not, therefore, offer the Assassin the information he sought, and for a moment Rashid wondered what had driven him to promise that which he had.

 

Returning to his room, Rashid made his way over to the bed where he had laid Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr to rest. Reaching out to gently caress the face of the young once-Assassin, he smiled. He could see the light of the Apple shining softly through the child’s eyelids, now that the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon at last.

 

He wondered, for a few moments, what the child could have been dreaming; what dreams that the Apple was showing to him, in that place beyond all cares and troubles of the waking world.

 

Gently brushing back the child’s silver hair, Rashid smiled more gently as he felt the softness of it. Truly, the gentler world that he would use the Apple to create could only be a boon to him and all of the children like him.


	45. Half-truths and secrets

“Who are you?” he demanded of the man, the one who continued to hide himself within the light Alnesr had found himself wandering through for an uncounted amount of time.

 

Ever since such had overtaken him, while he’d been speaking to Master Mualim in his study.

 

_“You’ll come to know me soon enough, Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr.”_

 

He could only wonder at how the man knew his name, and even more at the fact that his voice seemed to echo from everywhere and nowhere at once. It made the man near-impossible to locate by sound, and the fact that he could not catch so much of a glimpse of the man whose voice he heard so clearly compounded the impossibility with yet more.

 

He was not fully prepared to concede victory or resign himself to hopelessness at this point, however; there was a solution to all problems, in the end. One merely had to find it.

 

_“By all means, Alnesr: come and find me.”_

 

The man’s voice sounded fully amused now; soft, mocking chuckles sounding from the light all around him.

 

“Come out and show yourself, then; or are you just a voice on the wind, merely empty noise at the end of things?”

 

_“I look forward to seeing you find that out for yourself, Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr.”_

 

He’d not expected the man to show himself at the prompting of what were merely words that could be ignored if one was truly uninterested in the opinions that others might hold of them – as Altaïr had been, long ago – and yet hearing such plain indifference in the voice of the man who would not come out to confront him was not a comfort at all. It suggested that, whoever it was that continued to speak to him within this place that was not truly a place, they held no concern for the opinions of others. It suggested a man who did not question the limits of his own strength, for there was nothing and no one that could truly challenge him.

 

Or else, that he had simply not met a one who could.


	46. Solitary hunter

When the morning had come once more, Altaïr rose from his slumber and began to make for the stables after he had broken his fast. He was pleased to remember his conversation with the Master; pleased to know that Alnesr would still be supporting him even after the two of them had gone down separate paths. He was not entirely pleased that he’d not been able to wish the younger Assassin well on his way, but Alnesr’s departure had been at the Master’s discretion.

 

He was not going to go down the path of questioning the Master’s dictates, after the troubles that doing such had already caused him; he’d paid the price for his arrogance some time ago, and he would not soon forget the lesson that he had paid such a price for.

 

Taking a horse from the stables, Altaïr unhooked a pack of provisions from the far wall and slung it over his right shoulder. Guiding his horse out from the stables and down the path away from Masyaf, Altaïr turned his thoughts toward Jerusalem once more. Dealing with Malik would be more difficult now, without Alnesr to blunt the edges of the Dai’s words.

 

However, he would face the mistakes that he had made toward Malik, and the hatred that his fellow Assassin had a right to feel toward him. He would complete his tasks, kill Majd Addin and bring Jerusalem out from under his cruel thumb, so that the people there could once more live free as all people were meant to do. Then, he would see if Alnesr had returned from his own appointed tasks so that the two of them could speak once again.

 

Pausing to rest under the trees of a nearby oasis, Altaïr watered both himself and his horse before tying the beast up so that it wouldn’t wander off into the desert and become lost. Eating a piece of dried fruit, Altaïr settled himself down to rest for the night. Rising once he felt rested once more, Altaïr untied his horse and mounted it once more.

 

The next five days passed in much the same way, and Altaïr soon found himself standing outside the walls of Jerusalem once again. He would have to focus on getting inside, for the moment, before he could concern himself with what other things Malik might say to him now that he was meeting his fellow Assassin for the second time. Tying his horse to one of the hitching posts outside of a nearby stable, Altaïr paid the stable hand to board his horse and then turned his gaze to the walls of Jerusalem at last.

 

As always, there were many citizens of many stripes milling around outside the walls, and while he might have had some small chance of blending in with a crowd and making his way into the city in that manner, there would have still been an uncomfortably large chance of him being found out if he had done such. So, Altaïr was determined to find a way that did not expose him to such a danger, and hence did not carry such a risk of compromising the Brotherhood. He had pride in his own skill, yes, but he was not a fool.

 

Finding a group of scholars making their own way into the city, Altaïr blended carefully in among them and allowed them to cover his entrance into Jerusalem for this mission of his. Bidding them a subtle farewell once he had accomplished his purpose, Altaïr took only a moment to compose himself when he stood within the walls of the city once more. After a few moments’ pause, he moved off deeper into the city.

 

It was with some amusement that Altaïr recalled how he had found himself making investigations without truly intending to do so, when he and Alnesr had been to the city before on the trail of Talal the slaver. This day, however, there did not seem to be anything of import to draw his attention away from making his journey to the Bureau to present himself before Malik and hence gain the Dai’s approval for his latest foray into the city. Again, he wondered what Malik would have to say.

 

Continuing on his way, taking to the rooftops when he was certain that he would not be spotted doing such, Altaïr breathed deeply and tried to leave aside his concerns for what Malik’s reaction would be to confronting him without Alnesr. He could not deny anymore that he was ultimately the cause of the other man’s maiming, or that Malik had every right in the world to hate him for such a thing. No matter how he might wish to make amends, wishes on their own were little more than kindly words.

 

Finally coming into sight of the Bureau’s rooftop entrance, Altaïr carefully made his way down into the building. He still did not know just what to expect when he met with the man – the Dai who had once been his fellow Assassin, alongside Alnesr and the man’s own late younger brother – but he would face such scorn as Malik would offer to him as he faced all other challenges in his life. He could no more deny his responsibility for the man’s maiming than he could force the sun to set at his own discretion.

 

Making his way into the front room of the Bureau at last, Altaïr paused for a moment as Malik looked up at him.


	47. Malik’s Misgivings

“Safety and peace, Malik,” he said, not wanting to start off on an argument, though he had a feeling that such was a futile hope.

 

“What news, Novice?”

 

“I am not a Novice, Malik,” he said, resisting the urge to sigh.

 

“A man’s skill is defined by his _actions_ , not the markings on his robe,” Malik said, not sounding swayed at all by his tone. “And, as you do not seem to be apprenticed to anyone, you are again a Novice in my eyes.”

 

“We could trade barbs all day, if you would prefer it so,” he said, forcing himself to look into Malik’s eyes in spite of the clear disapproval he saw in their depths. “Or, we could return to doing Al Mualim’s work.”

 

“Then, be out with it,” Malik said, taking a box out from underneath the counter he stood behind. “Though I would much prefer to be dealing with Alnesr, I suppose I can tolerate you.” Malik faced him more firmly. “Do you at least know how he fares?”

 

“The Master says that he has gone to find more information about the enemies we currently face,” Altaïr said, wondering for a moment if he should reveal what the Master had said to him when he had demanded answers not so very long ago.

 

Still, such was not likely to matter to Malik, since he had other concerns.

 

“Well, I suppose the two of us might very well have the chance to meet again,” Malik mused. “Now, what was it you came here for?”

 

“Al Mualim has asked that Majd Addin be slain,” he said. “There are mutterings throughout the city, and the people seem to have little love for him.”

 

“So, you _can_ be observant when it suits you,” Malik said; Altaïr forced himself not to sigh once more. “Very well, I shall give you leave to use the Bureau as you need it.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, bowing slightly to Malik as he left the front room.

 

Making his way back over to the ornamental fountain, Altaïr stepped up onto it and from there made his way up the wall and back onto the rooftops. Standing there a moment to regain the composure that he had found worn down during his meeting with Malik. He had been right in thinking that the Dai would not have forgiven him his transgressions so easily. Still, Altaïr would have been lying if he’d not admitted to hoping for such a thing.

 

Dismissing those thoughts from his mind after only a moment to observe them, Altaïr made his way away from the Bureau and into the poor district of Jerusalem.

 

Once he’d found himself looking down at the dilapidated buildings of the poorest section of the city he now stood within, Altaïr waited a moment for the streets below him to clear, before descending down onto the level where all of the varied citizens within Jerusalem went about their lives. Knowing that he would now need to keep his eyes and ears open from the time he blended into the crowds until he departed for the Bureau with his collected information, Altaïr smiled slightly at the prospect of yet another challenge.

 

The life of an Assassin was filled with them.


	48. Back in Jerusalem

Making his way further into the poor district, Altaïr composed himself as he began to hear the sounds of a conversation not too far from where he currently stood. Moving toward it at a pace calculated to match that of the citizens that walked these streets beside, behind, and before him, Altaïr wondered for a moment just what it was that he would ultimately be finding. As it turned out, two men were meeting with each other; one of them wearing a simple, white tunic and pants with a smoke-gray turban, and the other far more elaborately garbed in rich, wine red fabric.

 

“They sent word you wished to speak with me,” the man in white and gray said.

 

“Majd Addin intends another execution today,” the man in red silks responded. “We must ensure all goes well.”

 

“It is my duty to serve,” the first man said, bending slightly at the waist in response.

 

“Bring the document I’ve given you to your master,” the man in red silks ordered; Altaïr narrowed his eyes slightly. “That way, he’ll know where my men are at all times. And be quick about it! We can ill afford any delays.”

 

“There will be none, you have my word,” the first man said. “Is there anything else?”

 

After a cursory check to see if anyone was watching them, during which time Altaïr had to fight hard to restrain his amused smile, the man in red silks turned back to the man in white and gray. “We’ve reason to believe they’d infiltrated the city,” the man in red silks had leaning his head slightly closer in that way that conspirators from all creeds and all walks of life had done before him. “Majd Addin fears for his safety.”

 

 _As well he might,_ Altaïr mused, not feeling particularly charitable.

 

“Truth be told I don’t blame him,” the man in red silks said. “A man in his position makes many enemies.”

 

“I am sure that your men will be able to keep him safe,” the man in gray and white said, straightening up and beginning to leave the intersection of street and alley where Altaïr had found him.

 

“God willing,” the man in red silk said, moving to leave, himself.

 

Altaïr, schooling his face in the wake of the new information that he’d been able to gather, moved in behind the new object of his attention as swiftly and silently as he ever had. Once the man’s attention had turned fully to whatever matters that he had concerned himself, fully distracted from whoever he might encounter within the city, Altaïr swept past him, taking what he needed from the man just as he’d been taught to do by the Master himself.

 

And, just as he’d taught Alnesr to do, in his turn.

 

Moving away from the man he’d tailed, so that he would not think to pursue him once he discovered that he was no longer carrying the message he’d been given, Altaïr melted back into the milling crowds and continued on his way even as he tucked the message he’d claimed safely away inside his robes. Passing deeper into the crowds, Altaïr made his stance and stride as unobtrusive as he could manage, searching out the next person who would be able to provide him with the information he sought, though they would have no knowledge of him or what he truly sought.

 

As he continued making his way through the crowds, Altaïr opened his ears once more to what those who lived under Majd Addin’s rule _truly_ thought of the man; it would make him all the simpler to come to grips with, when the time came.

 

As he continued deeper into Jerusalem’s poor district, Altaïr began to hear the sounds of yet another conversation that might also prove to have more of the information he was currently searching for.

 

“Did you see the order?” a man in smoke-gray robes and black sash asked of a man in a white tunic and turban, this one wearing a bright green sash. “He wants us to prepare a stage for another execution. Today. It’s the one at the western edge of Solomon’s Temple. I was on my way just now.”

 

“So much death,” the man in white said, in the tone of a man who had been defeated; Altaïr was cheered by the thought that, unknown though he might be to this man, he would still be lifting a burden from his shoulders.

 

“Were it only that our _true_ leader might return, and bring a measure of justice to this city,” the other man said, with far more enthusiasm.

 

“Yes, and not this mockery Majd Addin parades before us,” the man in white continued; it seemed the spirit had not been wrung out of him _entirely_.

 

“How? How does something like this _happen_?”

 

If Master Mualim’s deductions were indeed as well-founded as they had always been, then not without intervention, Altaïr reflected.

 

“Everyone appointed in Salah Al’din’s stead has met with an untimely end, and so the position falls to him,” the man in white said; Altaïr winced slightly at the thought that his own actions had given such a madman cause to hold power. “ _He_ who was once nothing more than a mere scribe.”

 

“How convenient,” the man in gray said, his tone making the words a jibe. “It would not surprise me to learn that he was behind these… _accidents_.”

 

More and more, Altaïr found himself pleased to be able to offer the citizens of Jerusalem reprieve from what was, in the end, just another tyrant that fed on the suffering of their fellow man. Or, perhaps much worse, considering the man’s affiliations.

 

The man in white swiftly hushed his companion. “If the guards hear us, we’ll be taken for treason! Executed on very platform we have to repair. Come; let us return to work.”

 

Turning his face back to the crowd, so that he would not appear to be taking too much note of the men whose conversation he had taken the time to overhear, Altaïr closed easily with the man in white, taking the map that he had been given to do his work. Drifting back into the crowd once he had done his work, Altaïr began once more to search for those who might be carrying information that he needed.

 

After continuing on his way through the city for some time, observing the ebb and flow of the crowds he passed into and through and by on his way through the poor district, Altaïr began to hear the sounds of a man haranguing the crowd around him. Turning that way, Altaïr settled himself down on a bench close enough to hear the words of the man that spoke so pointedly, while at the same time being safely out of the man’s sight. After all, it was a strong possibility that this man could end up being his enemy.


	49. Interrupted Execution

“There is nothing more insidious than one who turns his back on the law!” the man shouted. “For the law was given to us by God! There is no harm in naming them: those among you who defy the law. We are nothing without our faith. Without its rules and its direction; to defy it, is to defy the one who leads us! Such behavior can not be allowed!”

 

The man had stopped speaking, and so Altaïr rose from the bench and began discreetly tailing the man; this one clearly being either a firm believer in Majd Addin’s tyrannical ways, or merely paid off by the man. And either way, one more than likely to have knowledge that could be put to proper use.

 

As he caught his first glimpse of the man, moving through the crowds, Altaïr took note of the travel-stained, faded tan robe that he wore. Around his waist was a black sash, and atop his head a wine-red hat of a type Altaïr had seen before, though he did not recall just what such a thing was called. Directing his attention away from such idle musings, Altaïr continued on his way though the crowds.

 

Ever closer to the man who would give him the information he sought, reluctant though he might have been.

 

Once he had passed beyond the watching eyes of Jerusalem’s citizens for a moment, Altaïr fell upon the man with his accustomed ferocity. A hireling the man might easily have been, since he did not fight with the strength or lack of regard for himself that characterized a zealot. The more they struggled, Altaïr himself striving far harder than this man whose name he did not know, he came to the conclusion that his first thought about the man was indeed right. The man fought too much like a hireling to be anything else.

 

“Enough!” the man gasped. “I still breathe, so you must desire more than just my life. What is it?”

 

“You know Majd Addin well?” he demanded.

 

“Better than most,” the man said, not sounding as though he was boasting, but not as though he was confessing, either.

 

All the more indication that this man was a hireling, truly.

 

“He seems a bit too righteous,” he said. “Is the law really so important to him?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

He narrowed his eyes, not entirely pleased with the man’s temerity. “I think he hides something, and I think you’ll tell me what it is,” he said, focusing the annoyance he felt into a sharp blade to further prod the man before him.

 

“It’s a veil, all of it,” the hireling said, his almost laughable resistance folding swiftly in the face of Altaïr’s annoyance. “Men like me? We are meant to scare them. Fill the people with fear. The ones he kills: not criminals, but… dangerous, all the same.”

 

“Dangerous to who?” Altaïr demanded, in spite of the fact that he was beginning to suspect the fact that he knew the answer to that question without troubling himself to ask.

 

“His plans; _their_ plans,” the hireling said, his fear clearly beginning to get the better of him at last. “Yes! He speaks of others! Those he works with; works _for_ , perhaps. I am uncertain. They need the city, though: controlling it is important to them.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You’ll have to ask him yourself,” the hireling said, clearly beginning to think that there was a way for him to survive this confrontation. “Attend one of his executions,” the hireling said to him. “It’s when he’s most talkative; addressing the crowd, hands covered in blood.”

 

“Then we are done,” he said, driving his Hidden Blade into the hireling’s neck at last.

 

Leaving the man behind as he fell to the ground, Altaïr swiftly moved away from the scene. Scaling a nearby wall to bring himself further away as swiftly as possible, Altaïr crossed as many rooftops as he could manage without being spotted by one of the archers that seemed to be far more prevalent in Jerusalem now than the last time that he had found himself in the city. It was quite possible that Majd Addin had ordered them posted when he had assumed power within the city.

 

Yet another reason to deal with him, if such were indeed the case.

 

Returning to the ground so that he would be better able to find the people that he sought within the city, Altaïr blended carefully back into the crowds so that he would be able to more easily make his way through the city, unnoticed and seldom seen. As he turned his attention back to the hunt for his new targets, Altaïr took care to match his pace to the ebb and flow of the crowds. He would not like to be spotted simply because of his inattention to a simple detail such as that.

 

Turning his gaze to the right, Altaïr raised his eyebrows slightly as he caught sight of an Informant standing at ease within a courtyard. Mildly interested in what the man would say to him, he hoped that the tasks that the other asked of him would not be too onerous.

 

“You again, grand Master,” the young man said; Altaïr was unsure if the young one was simply one of those overawed by his presence or simply confused as to his true rank, and so he offered no correction. “Safety and peace; I am _so_ glad to see you. In these troubled times they asked me to prove myself, but I feel so inadequate when I compare myself to you.” Altaïr held himself aloof from the young man; knowing how unlikely it was that they would ever truly meet again, and so not wishing to cast a pall over his aspirations. “I must kill two of Majd Addin’s men without a fight. Could you show me the way?” it was a difficult thing, reading the emotions on a face so well-shrouded as that of an Informant, and yet the young man’s eyes gave his hesitation away; perhaps it was for the best that Altaïr showed him how he might perform future duties that might be asked of him. “I will be forever grateful; _and_ share a very interesting story with you.”

 

Nodding his acquiescence to the young man who had asked for his help in this endeavor, Altaïr received the locations where both men could be found, and then turned his attention to tracking them. Such was not an entirely difficult thing, with the skill that he had often wondered if others among the Brotherhood possessed. It was not a thing he talked about, however; not an easy thing to bring up in conversation at all, the fact that he could see things that others might not.

 

Such musings were merely idle curiosities, however, and so Altaïr set them aside while he dealt with the men who had caused this Informant such consternation.

 

Returning over the rooftops to the young man who had sought his aid, Altaïr found that his wide-eyed look of welcome rather reminded him of Alnesr’s when his former Apprentice had been young.

 

“You are the best the clan has ever seen.” Altaïr took only a moment to consider such praise, before putting it aside as the words of a young man who had likely ventured no further than the city he had been stationed in. “Here is my story, Master: I was cleaning the temple steps; I overheard two scholars praising how easy it was for them to pass the soldiers guarding the entrance of the execution plaza.” He’d have not thought that such would be the case; Majd Addin must have truly felt more secure in his power than any of the others that he had been given cause to put to the sword. “If you time your entry properly, they could provide a choice distraction for the guards. But, I am sure that with your wisdom, you knew that already.”

 

Nodding slightly to himself in thought, not particularly caring how the informant would take such a gesture, Altaïr left the courtyard and made his way back out into the city at large. He possessed a great deal more information now than he had when he started, and for a moment he wondered if Malik would be satisfied with such progress as he had made. He honestly doubted it; not just for the hurt that he had caused to the Dai, but for the thought that he had not sought out all possible leads in all possible places.

 

With that thought in mind, Altaïr turned his attention back to what else he might be able to find out about the circumstances surrounding Majd Addin, and hence how he could improve his chances of killing the man when the time to do so properly came.

 

Hearing the sound of far off conversation, Altaïr turned his attention that way. Seating himself at a bench within range of the two men conversing – a man in white robes, sash, and turban, his face covered by a cloth of the same color; and a man in pale green who seemed to be dressed just the same – and turned his ears in that direction while taking care to appear that he was merely resting after a long walk.

 

“I am sorry!” the man in white said to the man in pale green, his tone indeed one of deep sorrow. “They came for him without warning.”

 

“My son?! They have my son?” thinking on how he himself would have felt if it had been Alnesr in such a situation, Altaïr lowered his eyes slight; truly, this only served to firm his resolve. Majd Addin _would_ die, and the sooner the better. “What is to be done with him?!”

 

“We did everything we could,” the man in white said, wringing his hands.

 

“ _What is to be done with him_?!” the other man demanded, shaking the first with the strength that desperation could lend a man.

 

“He is to be executed; today.”

 

“No,” the man in pale-green – the father bereft of his son – growled at last. “I won’t allow it.”

 

“What, what can _we_ do?” the first man asked; clearly, a victim of the terror that Majd Addin had been spreading. “Majd Addin will hear no appeals! He says that there can be no barter with God’s will!”

 

“This is not God’s will!” In that, Altaïr mused, they two were in complete agreement. “But madness! I’ll go to him myself! Where is he?!”

 

Before the grieving father could have done something foolish, though Altaïr held no enmity for such a desire considering what he had lost, the man in white took hold of his right shoulder and pulled him back. “He will attend the execution; perform it, even. He _enjoys_ the act; truly _evil_ man.”

 

“We have no time to lose, then,” the bereft, grieving father said; Altaïr was almost pleased that the man’s voice did not shake when he spoke. “Let’s go!”

 

Taking a moment to compose himself, knowing that he could not offer aid in any but the most indirect of ways to the man who had lost so much, Altaïr moved back into the crowd and lost himself within it once more. He had a great deal of time to think about what else he might need – what other information there might be left to collect – before he returned to the Bureau to collect the Master’s marker and finish this mission at last.

 

On his way back through the poor district, Altaïr found his attention once more drawn to the discreet, robed form of an Informant standing just out of sight of the glances of the crowds, behind a section of wall that jutted out just enough to cover him.

 

“Still need my help?” the man said. “I’m not sure I can be of any help; I have not been in town for awhile. Well, not since Majd Addin put a bounty on my head! Three of his men are after me! Perhaps your blade could help,” the man – not sounding as young as the previous Informant he’d crossed paths with, but not sounding very much older all the same – said, sounding rather like he hoped it would. “Get rid of them, and I’ll search my memory for something worth your while.”

 

Nodding as the Informant bowed slightly to him, Altaïr turned and left the small almost alcove-like place where the two of them had met.

 

There was one more man due to fall to his knives than had been the case the last time he had been asked to perform such actions as were wanted of him here and now, but Altaïr had thought that such would indeed be the case when he had glimpsed the stance of this Informant out of all the others. This man indeed had had the mien of one being hunted.

 

Returning to the rooftops, stalking from above as had proved so useful to him in the past, Altaïr focused in that way that he did to bring his awareness of people’s inner-natures forward. The men he sought were colored brightly gold in that other-vision; haloed in red to further let him know that they were enemies. Striking each one of them down with the throwing-knives that he had often taken the time and care to liberate from the thieves who would have otherwise used them for ends meant to benefit only themselves, Altaïr allowed himself a slight smile, before he made his way back to the Informant so that he would be able to speak to the young man once more.

 

Making his way back into the small, sheltered alcove-like place that the young man had hidden himself within to avoid the notice of those who would have sought the bounty on his head, Altaïr carefully checked to see that he was not being observed by anyone who might have taken something of an interest in what he was doing, and then made his way back down the ladder that he had climbed to gain the rooftops in the first place. It was a good feeling, to know that he could move unseen both within and above the crowds.

 

“Now I’m starting to understand why they call you the one,” the Informant said, his enthusiasm showing even though most of his face was covered. “What could I tell you that would be of any help?” the young man seemed to be musing on his next words, as opposed to lacking confidence as the other Informant that he had encountered, so Altaïr merely watched without expectations. “Oh, yes: Majd Addin enjoys lecturing his prisoners before executing them. While doing so, he turns his back on the crowd. I’m sure it is the perfect moment to strike! Does that help? Now, I must go hide for a while.”

 

Nodding, more to himself than to the Informant who had already begun to make his way out of the small, alcove-like place where the two of them had been speaking with one another, Altaïr made his own way out once the Informant had left in another dissection. He did not wish to give anyone who might have been watching the impression that he and the Informant could be connected to one another.

 

He would not compromise the Brotherhood once again; not ever again.

 

Deciding that, even if Malik did not believe that he possessed the requisite information to justify the giving over of the marker Altaïr would need to properly perform the assassination he had awaiting him, he could ill-afford any more delays if he were to help those that the mad Templar aimed to execute, he turned his path back toward the Bureau once more. He would not allow Malik’s disparagement to drive him to delays that would only place the lives of those Majd Addin’s madness had condemned in further danger.

 

Making his way back over the rooftops, pausing only to deal with the archers and particularly troublesome guards that he encountered on his way, Altaïr made his way determinedly back to the Bureau where Malik waited for him. He would present his case to the Dai, and he _would_ convince the man to allow him the marker he needed. He could not allow Majd Addin’s madness to condemn any more of Jerusalem’s innocents.

 

Coming within sight of the Bureau once more, Altaïr sighed softly in mingled relief and anticipation. Climbing back down into the secondary room of the Bureau, Altaïr steeled himself for what he might be forced to do. Whether it was to grovel and beg for a favor that the Dai might not be willing to grant him otherwise, or else to promise some form of penance to the man that he had wronged. Altaïr would do it; not only for the innocents that he would be unable to protect otherwise, but for the fact that he _had_ wronged Malik, and he _did_ owe the man.

 

As he came into the room where Malik was working, behind the counter that Altaïr’s own actions had left him to, Altaïr nodded to the Dai and made his way over.

 

“You have more news, Novice?”

 

“I do,” he said simply; Malik seemed almost surprised by his tone.

 

“Speak of it, then; let us see what you have learned.”

 

For a moment, Altaïr was almost bemused by how the Dai’s manner of speech reflected the Master’s own. “Majd Addin is to hold a public execution not far from here. It’s certain to be well-guarded, but given the information I have managed to collect, I feel it is not beyond my skill.”

 

“You _would_ feel that,” Malik said, sounding as fully unimpressed as he looked.

 

Altaïr bit the tip of his tongue, briefly reminding himself of all the troubles that his own arrogance had brought upon the Brotherhood before. “Will you give me the marker?”

 

“There is something else you need know beforehand,” Malik said, sounding both pleased and slightly annoyed. “One of those meant to be executed is a Brother; one of us. Al Mualim wishes for him to be saved. Do not worry about the rescue: my men will take care of that. But _you_ must ensure that Majd Addin does not take his life.”

 

After Malik had finished speaking those words, the Dai retrieved the Master’s marker and Altaïr took it. Nodding one last time, with respect to the man that his foolishness had harmed most of all, Altaïr turned and left the Bureau’s front room. Making his way into the room that he had entered from once again, Altaïr allowed himself only a small meal and a short rest before he scaled the wall and made his way back up to Jerusalem’s rooftops once more.

 

He did not have the luxury of time in this instance, so Altaïr did not allow himself to linger in any one place for longer than he had to. Dodging the sightlines of guards, and pausing only to deal with those archers who he could not avoid without deviating too far from the most efficient path, Altaïr made swift progress through Jerusalem, on his way to the execution grounds that had been indicated by the men whose conversations he had overheard and whose communications he had intercepted.

 

The western edge of Solomon’s Temple, near the Wailing Wall, was awash with people; shifting and muttering, most of them clearly constrained from acting by the fear of what reprisals Addin would contrive to bring down on their heads in the face of such open defiance. But, that was well enough for his purposes; Altaïr himself had often been the hidden blade of the people, striking down those who had thought themselves protected by the coin they extorted, or the fear they spread.

 

He was more than willing to become so again, after all that he had heard of Majd Addin and his atrocities.

 

Making his way into the crowd that had gathered, whether willing or unwilling, to witness the mockery of justice that Majd Addin would parade before them, Altaïr steadied himself and watched; his time to act would come soon enough.

 

“People of Jerusalem, hear me well!” Addin called out, his voice silencing the remaining mutters of the crowd who had not heeded his call for such when he had first made it, likely riled by the delivery of the prisoners – tied to stakes, and most of them beaten – before them. “I stand here today to deliver a warning: there are malcontents among you; they sow the seeds of discontent, hoping to lead you astray.” Over the crowd’s murmurs, Addin continued. “Tell me, is this what you desire? To be mired in deceit and sin? To live your lives in fear?”

 

Altaïr would have scoffed at that, were he not surrounded by Addin’s Saracen guards and those who he had cowed into his service. _He_ was a fine one to speak of people in fear. His gaze, however, was fixed on the Assassin that had been captured by Addin’s men: the man was younger than him, but seemed to be older than Alnesr. He did not know if this man was unskilled in combat, or had simply been unlucky.

 

He was not likely to find out, for that matter; so Altaïr focused his attention on Addin, awaiting the moment when he would be able to strike.


	50. Majd Addin

“Then you wish to take action?” Addin asked, to the roaring approval of the crowd; Altaïr was not pleased to see such a thing, but he well knew that a man with the proper will could guide a crowd to follow where he led them. “Your devotion pleases me,” he said, turning to indicate the prisoners with a sweep of his left arm. “This evil must be purged, only then can we hope to be redeemed.”

 

Narrowing his eyes as a pair of men, the same pair that he had seen discussing the fate of the man’s son – still in their white and pale-green garb – came up to the stage, loudly denouncing Majd Addin and the farce of bloodlust and madness he was parading as justice, Altaïr sighed softly. He would not be able to save these men, but at least he could ensure that their sacrifice would not be in vain.

 

Moving forward during the inattention of the guards that had been distracted by their murder of the two men who had spoken out against the madness and bloodlust that Addin had encouraged within the crowd before him, Altaïr lowered his head slightly in remembrance of the two men who had been so brave as to offer themselves in the defense of people who could not defend themselves. Making his way up onto the execution platform, Altaïr forced himself forward as Addin turned the sacrifices of those two men – infinitely better than Addin himself would ever be, even if he _were_ allowed to live – to his own advantage with barely a thought.

 

He was forced to watch the deaths of another two innocents – a woman, and then a man, neither of them likely to have done what Addin had contrived to accuse them of – before he was able to make his way close enough to deal with Addin properly. It was a cold comfort, but he _had_ at least managed to come in time to aid the Assassin that he had been informed would be present.

 

As though he had been alerted by some other power, some heightened sense of combat that Altaïr would not have expected of a man who was merely engaging in mindless butchery as he was, Addin turned to look directly at Altaïr. The man seemed to know, though not by any means accept, that death had come for him at last. Altaïr, however, did not particularly care what Addin was willing to _accept_.

 

Launching himself forward, flicking out his Hidden Blade so that he would be better able to deal with Addin when the time came, Altaïr sunk the blade into his neck as he landed amid the roars and screams of the crowd; at this point, Altaïr rather thought that none of them were particularly aware of what was truly happening, merely wanting blood to appease the bloodlust that Addin had stirred in them. Altaïr thought it fitting, when he allowed himself to think of it at all.

 

“Your work here is finished,” he said, tensing himself to deliver the finishing blow.

 

The guards, at least, seemed to have realized that something had gone wrong, and were attempting to fight their way through the panicking crowds. None of them, it seemed, had expected death to strike the man who had gathered them here. Altaïr knew that he did not have so much time to linger in this place, and yet he still wanted to know just what it was that Addin would say in his own defense.

 

“No, no,” the man moaned softly, already dying. “It had only just begun.”

 

“Tell me: what was your part in all of this?” he demanded. “Do you intend to defend yourself as the others have? To explain away your evil deeds?”

 

“The brotherhood wanted the city; I wanted power,” Addin said, beginning to smile slightly. “There was… an opportunity.”

 

“An opportunity to murder innocent people,” Altaïr returned, disgusted with the man now bleeding out at his feet.

 

“Not so innocent,” Addin said, blood beginning to pool at the left side of his mouth. “Dissident voices cut deep as steel. They disrupt order; in this, I do agree with the brotherhood.”

 

“You would kill people simply for believing differently than you?” Altaïr asked; it fit what he had learned of the Templars, at least.

 

“Of course not…” Addin said, almost seeming as though he would have been laughing. “I killed them because I _could_ ; because it was fun. Do you know what it feels like, to determine another man’s fate? And did you see the way the people cheered? The way they feared me? I was like a God! You’d have done the same, if you could. Such… power.”

 

“Once, perhaps,” Altaïr allowed himself to admit. “But then I learned what becomes of those who life themselves above others.”

 

“And, what is that?” Addin asked, curious to the last.

 

“Here, let me show you,” he said, finishing the tyrant, and then closing Addin’s eyes as a final gesture. “Every soul shall taste death.”

 

Moving swiftly away from Majd Addin’s cooling corpse, Altaïr dashed for the nearest of the buildings to him. Clambering up the wall, he broke the line of sight on himself, then dove into a rooftop garden to escape the scrutiny of the guards pursuing him. Safely out of sight, Altaïr waited for the furor in his area of the city to die down slightly, and then moved quickly away over the rooftops once more. He knew that the archers he had killed had more than likely been replaced, particularly considering the level of security that Majd Addin had been operating under.

 

He could not afford carelessness, less in this situation than in many others.

 

Timing his movements carefully, so that he would never have the eyes of a man he could not kill upon him, Altaïr made his way swiftly back to the Bureau; Malik awaited news of his success there, though the Dai was more than likely aware of such a thing already.

 

When he had finally returned to the Bureau, making his way back down into the building as quickly and quietly as he ever had, Altaïr found that he was rather more eager than he had ever been to return to Masyaf once more. There seemed to be other things that he had been unaware of; things he was beginning to consider, now that he knew that the men he was hunting did indeed share more than their means and motives. Now that he knew he was facing the Templars once more.

 

Making his way into the main room of the Bureau, finding Malik hard at work behind the counter once more, Altaïr made his way over to the Dai to make his report.

 

“Jerusalem shall need a new ruler,” he said simply, knowing that Malik would be aware of what he meant.

 

“So I have heard,” the Dai said, sounding rather unimpressed; Altaïr could not find it within himself to be surprised at such a thing.

 

“Yes; I suppose that all of the city knows of his demise by now,” he said.

 

“You performed as an Assassin should: no more, no less,” Malik said, his unimpressed expression remaining; Altaïr briefly wondered what it would take to change it, and then mentally rebuked himself for such a thought.

 

Deeds were the way to change a man’s mind; not merely words.

 

“Is there anything else that you would wish to speak to me about?”

 

“No,” Malik said bluntly. “Reflect on your performance on your way back to Masyaf. And, if you do chance to meet up with Alnesr again, tell him that I would enjoy speaking with him if his path returns here.”

 

“I will, Malik,” he said, dipping his head to the Dai and then turning to make his way back to the sleeping area so that he could wait for the furor that his actions had caused to die down.

 

A light sleep left him clear-headed and better able to face whatever the rest of the day would bring, as well as free of the harsh, strident ringing of the alarm bells that had begun clanging almost before the dying body of Majd Addin had fallen to the ground. Making his way back out of the Bureau, Altaïr found his way back onto the rooftops, and from there was able to make his way carefully back to the edge of the city once more. He smiled briefly to see another group of scholars, before moving down to immerse himself within their ranks.


	51. Making for Masyaf

With his cover preserved for the moment, Altaïr passed under the gazes of the guards at the gate, and made his way back out into the groups of people milling around outside Jerusalem itself. Some of them did indeed seem agitated by what had happened, but a great many more of them seemed relieved to know that they would no longer be harmed by those who purported to be in power. Altaïr was glad to see it; to know that he had made a difference in the lives of so many was a good feeling.

 

It was something he had taught Alnesr to cherish, as well.

 

Mounting his horse once more, Altaïr made his way away from the walls of Jerusalem and back down the path that would return him to Masyaf. He stopped when he could not avoid it, eating both along the way and when he settled down to allow both the beast and himself to get what rest they needed. When, at least, he came into sight of the great citadel of Masyaf once more, Altaïr sighed slightly, a small smile playing about his lips; it was a pleasant thing, to be home once more after all of his labors.

 

Leaving his horse in the care of the stable hands once more, Altaïr made his way back up to the citadel, and from there back into the Master’s study, where Master Mualim was indeed waiting for him once more.

 

“Come in, Altaïr,” the Master directed, his usual expression of stern kindness settled upon his aged face. “I trust you are well rested? Ready for your remaining trials?”

 

“I am, but I would speak with you first, Master. I have questions.”

 

Master Mualim clearly disapproved of such a thing, and Altaïr was not one to forget the sight of the Master’s blade, but there were still things he needed to know. He _would_ find them out; no matter the cost.

 

“Ask, then,” the Master said, displeased but clearly still willing to cooperate. “I’ll do my best to answer.”

 

“The Merchant King of Damascus murdered the nobles who ruled his city,” he said, after a deep breath to fortify and steady himself. “Majd Addin in Jerusalem used fear to force his people into submission. I suspect that William meant to murder Richard and Acre with his troops. These men were meant to aid their leaders, and instead they chose to betray. What I do not understand is _why_.”

 

“Is it not obvious?” the Master asked rhetorically. “The Templars desire control. Each man, as you’ve noted, wanted to claim the city in the Templar name. So that the Templars themselves might rule the Holy Land; and eventually beyond. But they cannot succeed in their mission.”

 

“Why is that?” he asked, curious to know the source of the Master’s confidence.

 

“Their plans depend upon the Templar Treasure: the Piece of Eden… but we hold it now, and they cannot hope to achieve their goals without it.”

 

 _Of course,_ Altaïr mused; such was the item that so many of his targets had referred to.

  
“What is this treasure?” he asked.

 

Master Mualim smiled, clearly pleased to hear the question. Moving to the rear of his chamber, the Master bent and opened a chest. Taking a box from inside that chest, the Master returned to his desk and placed the box down upon it. Altaïr realized what it had to be not a second before Master Mualim had done so, but even then he still found his gaze drawn – almost _forced_ – back to the box. It was the same one that Alnesr had been carrying when he and Malik had returned from the Temple Mount, and as before it seemed to radiate a kind of power.

 

Not so much that he found he could not allow his gaze to leave it, the way that Alnesr had seemed to be affected, but enough so that Altaïr found himself fully aware of just how much of a hold that whatever was inside that box could have on the mind of any who beheld it. The Master’s expression was one of indulgence, as though he had seen many people react in such a way to this Templar Treasure of his.

 

The Master reached into the box, fetching up… a globe: it was the size of two fists held together, golden and with mosaic designs all over the surface. Altaïr did not know what to make of the device; wondering if his senses were deceived in some manner, for he almost felt as though the globe itself were _alive_ , in some fashion. He found himself distracted, however; the globe was pulling at him… he could feel it, though he tried to resist.

 

“It is… temptation,” the Master intoned.

 

As soon as he became aware of his own reaction to the device, however, the draw that the device had on him was ended. He could still see the mosaic patterns etched into the surface of the device, but they no longer pulsed with light, and the device itself no longer carried the semblance of life that it once had. It was a well-made thing, he could allow, but nothing more than a mere trinket.

 

“It’s just a piece of silver,” he said.

 

“Look at it,” the Master insisted, holding the device up for examination.

 

“It shimmers for the briefest moment, but there’s nothing truly spectacular about it,” he said, though he _had_ peered closer to satisfy the Master’s insistence. “What am I supposed to see?”

 

“This “piece of silver” cast out Adam and Eve. _This is the Apple_. It turned staves into snakes. Parted and closed the Red Sea. Eris used it to start the Trojan War. And with it, a poor carpenter turned water into wine.”

 

 _The Apple of Eden?_ He looked at the device doubtfully. “It seems rather plain for all the power you claim it has. How does it work?”

 

“He who holds it commands the hearts and minds of whoever looks upon it; whoever “tastes of it”, as they say,” the Master said.

 

“Then, Naplouse’s men…” he trailed off, thinking of the poor creatures that he and Alnesr had seen in the hospital that the Templar had presided over.

 

“An experiment,” the Master said. “Herbs used to simulate its effects, to be prepared for when they held it.”

 

He could see now: “Talal supplied them; Tamir equipped them. They were preparing for something. But what?”

 

“War,” the Master said plainly.

 

“And the others, the men who ruled the cites,” he turned his gaze inward, beginning to realize the full extent of the Templars’ machinations. “They meant to gather up their people, make them like Naplouse’s men.”

 

“The perfect citizens; the perfect soldiers,” the Master said. “A perfect world.”

 

“Robert de Sable must never have this back,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the device in Master Mualim’s right hand.

 

“So long as he and his brothers live, they will seek it out,” Master Mualim said, though he seemed pleased once more.

 

“Then they must die as well.”

 

“Which is what I have had you doing,” the Master said, smiling once more. “There are two more Templars who require your attention: one in Acre, known as Sibrand. The other in Damascus, called Jubair. Visit with the Bureau leaders; they will instruct you further.”


	52. Truth seeking

“As you wish,” he said, bowing. “However, I would know how Alnesr fares, before I leave.”

 

“Your concern for the boy does you credit, Altaïr,” the Master said with a smile; though Altaïr did not know what to make of the look in his eyes. “He continues to be well, though his work keeps him busy. Now, you had best hurry: no doubt Robert de Sable is made nervous by our continued success. His remaining followers will do their best to expose you. They _know_ you come for them: the man in the white hood. They will be looking for you.”

 

“They won’t find me: I’m but a blade in the crowd.”

 

Master Mualim smiled once again, and indicated a familiar sword upon his desk; Altaïr had taken note of it when he entered, but chosen not to mention it until or unless the Master chose to call his attention to it. “Here: my gift to you. In gratitude for the good work you’ve done.”

 

“Thank you, Master,” he said, bowing as he took his sword and left the room.


	53. Silver and light

_“I must commend your mentor, Alnesr. He has a very strong Heart.”_

 

That same voice again; echoing around and around him through the light, until Alnesr could not discern just where it might have come from at all. Still, he was not going to let such a thing stop him from gathering what information he could. “What do you mean?”

 

_“You may come to know that soon enough, Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr.”_

 

Again! It was as though the man was deliberately trying to infuriate him! Mastering himself with an effort of will, Alnesr resolved that he would no longer take the taunting of this arrogant man as anything but empty words.

 

_“Commendable of you, Alnesr. I wonder, however: just how long can you last?”_

 

Narrowing his eyes, knowing that there was very little chance of the strange man answering any of his questions, and yet curious to know what he was about all the same, Alnesr turned his thoughts inward. He might not have known precisely how it was that he had come to be trapped within this strange, featureless world of light, yet he suspected that such had a great deal to do with the treasure that Master Mualim had shown to him. The Master could not have known that it would harm him in such a strange way, however, and so Alnesr forgave him his curiosity.

 

It was the way of the Assassins, after all: to seek the truth of things.


	54. Back again to Acre

When he left for Acre once more, after a night of sleep that had not been entirely as restful as he would have wished, Altaïr tried to make himself put aside the uncertainty he felt. Alnesr did not need a nursemaid hovering over him at all times – the younger Assassin had proved himself more than capable during the time that the two of them had worked together – and the look in the Master’s eyes had likely been nothing more than his imaginings fueled by the Piece of Eden. The Master _had_ said that those who tasted of it became enthralled by the device. It was likely some product of that: since the device had been unable to touch his mind, it instead sought to poison it.

 

As he continued on the road that would take him to Acre, Altaïr found himself becoming more and more certain that such was indeed what had happened. And so, resolving to master himself all the more after coming into contact with such a potentially dangerous device as the Apple of Eden that Master Mualim had showed to him, Altaïr turned his mind to what he was going to be doing in Acre. The Templar Sibrand would be the one to taste his blade this day.

 

As he came into sight of the battle-scarred city of Acre once more, Altaïr wondered just how many more times he would be required to come back to this wounded city before his work was done. And yet, it was not his lot, to decide where his skill was best used; the Master had a plan, to rid the Holy Land of the Templars who sought to control it, and Altaïr’s duty was to make sure that such was allowed to happen. It was his duty to carry out the missions that Master Mualim assigned to him; to ensure that the Templars fell so that the people they would otherwise threaten would be able to live free without their oppressive presence.

 

With that thought to fortify him, Altaïr continued on his way closer to the battle-scarred, pitted walls of the city of Acre – with the broken, charred remains of a wooden wall placed before them in an effort to further deter any who would think to try to enter the city – dismounting from his horse and leaving the beast once more in the care of a stable hand that he was able to find. Turning his gaze back again to the city itself, Altaïr faded carefully away from the watchful eyes of what small crowds there were, and set about scaling the pitted walls themselves. Entering the city above the heads of those who had been placed in front of it as defenders, Altaïr breathed more easily once he was within the walls once more.

 

After he hand managed to bring himself out of the line of sight of the guards, Altaïr descended neatly back to the ground after a careful search for those who might have been close enough to see him. Once he was merely one of many anonymous figures moving through the streets of Acre, on his way to some business that the citizens there neither knew nor seemed to care about, Altaïr began to make his way to the Bureau so that he might meet once more with the Rafiq and thereby receive more details about Sibrand.

 

So that he might better know the man who was to taste his blade, before the moment came when he was called to strike.

 

As he continued on his way deeper into Acre, allowing the crowds themselves to conceal him from those who might have thought to track his movements, he couldn’t help but take note of the sorry state of the city once more. He and the Brotherhood had done all that they were able to, to prevent both the Templars and the scourge of the war itself from ravaging this city, but there was only so much that even _they_ had managed. It was a sad thing, but Altaïr could at least content himself with the knowledge that he was here to alleviate at least _some_ of Acre’s suffering.

 

Returning to the rooftops after he had found a clear place to ascend from, Altaïr made his way swiftly over them and to the entrance of the Bureau once more. Climbing back down into the building, feeling the same sense of comfort that he had when he was within the walls of Masyaf, if to a lesser degree than that which the old fortress and its sprawling grounds had provided him with, Altaïr made his way into the room where Acre’s Rafiq performed his duties.


	55. Tracking the Teutonic

“Greetings, Altaïr,” the Rafiq said. “What news?”

 

“Al Mualim has named another: calls himself Sibrand.”

 

“I am familiar with the man,” the Rafiq said calmly. “Newly appointed leader of the Knights Teutonic. He resides in the Venetian Quarter, and runs Acre’s port.”

 

“I’ll start my work at once,” he said, pleased once more not to be dealing with any of the complicated feelings he was prey to when working with Malik in Jerusalem.

 

“Here are the places where you should focus your search: on the docks east of here, among the ships and their crews; at the chapel to the northeast, with the cross overlooking the port; and to the north, in front of Saint John’s Gate.”

 

“This is most helpful,” he said, pleased to have the information he needed to continue his work. “My thanks for the guidance.”

 

“Altaïr?”

 

“Yes, Rafiq?”

 

“I owe you an apology,” the man said; he was surprised to hear such a thing, considering the words that they had previously exchanged.

 

“For what?”

 

“For doubting your dedication to our cause,” the Rafiq said.

 

“No,” he shook his head; he’d fully deserved what the man had said to him, time and reflection had allowed him to realize this. “It was I who erred: I believed myself above the Creed. You owe me nothing.”

 

“As you wish, my friend,” the Rafiq said, smiling cordially at him, no trace of his earlier unease in evidence at all. “Go in safety.”

 

“Safety and peace, my friend,” he said, turning to make his way back into the room that he had entered from.

 

Passing under the patch of sky that was revealed by the Bureau’s entrance, Altaïr climbed upon the ornamental fountain and began making his way back out. Regaining the rooftops once more, he set out to find the information that he would need to deal with Sibrand when the time came.

 

Making his way over the rooftops and away from the Bureau so that he could safely descend to the ground without the chance of compromising the security of the Bureau itself, Altaïr did so and then made his way out of the alley that he had entered and back into the city at large. Blending into the crowds once more, Altaïr took care to listen for those whose conversations might lead him to the information he would need to deal with Sibrand when the time came.

 

As he continued on his way deeper into the city, he listened for the sounds of idle conversation that would lead him to the first bit of information that he would be able to use to begin piecing together a plan that would enable him to kill Sibrand without exposing the Brotherhood to undue strife, and hence free Acre from the tyranny of the Templars’ attempts at ruling it. He could hear the muttering and idle chatter of the citizens all around him, as though he was standing in the midst of a tranquil sea that was yet occasionally stirred by breezes off the shore, and Altaïr smiled slightly at the sounds of the crowd all around him; life at its most human.

 

It was this that he and the Brotherhood acted to protect; this that the Templars and all of their high-handed, grandiose plans ultimately threatened.


	56. A bit less certainty

Turning his mind once again to his work, Altaïr opened his ears and took in the swirl of conversations happening all around him; he passed an Informant on his way through the city: the man standing at ease under the shadow of a doorway in a lesser-frequented part of the city. Though he was not particularly fond of the tasks those placed in the role would ask of him, now that he had seen the man, Altaïr thought it best to be done with such a thing. Sometimes these men possessed information worth his time.

 

“Did they let you into the city, or did you fight your way in?” the Informant asked; Altaïr narrowed his eyes in slight annoyance, and then the Informant sighed. “Perhaps I should be more respectful.” Something they could both agree upon. “As I, myself, now require your help: I spent too much time in the harbor brothel last night, and insulted a Teutonic Knight’s wife. Or, so I am told,” the man said, scratching his head. “Now there is a group of them after me. Could you give me a hand, or a blade? If you return before I leave the city, I will give you the benefit of my wisdom.”

 

Altaïr could have easily questioned the purported wisdom of a man who had been so careless with his words as to invite the fury of those currently in control of this city, but that would have only served to waste time he might not have had. So, with a sharp nod to the Informant to let the man know of his intentions, Altaïr moved off into the city. A moment of concentration had the world taking on the subtle glow of _intent_ as those around him became haloed by a light that he still did not know if any but him could see.

 

Those of particular interest to him were haloed in soft gold: as in the case of the three men who were clearly hounding the Informant whose cause he had taken up in exchange for the information that the man would be able to provide for him. Ascending to the rooftops once again, fully prepared to rain death upon his chosen targets, Altaïr had soon regained the high-ground and was steadily stalking the Knights who had set themselves after the Informant he was currently protecting.

 

Carefully tracking them with his gaze until the gold-haloed figures had each left the protection of the crowds they were moving through, Altaïr killed the men one-by-one as they each left the citizens who had been unknowingly sheltering them behind. Once he was finished with the task – not nearly so onerous as those that other Informants had asked from him in the past – he made his way back down to the ground, finding the Informant still standing in the doorway that he had positioned himself in, though now the man seemed to carry the mien of one hunted.

 

If what the man had said to him had indeed been the truth, however – though Altaïr had not been given a reason to doubt the man’s word, and had also been given confirmation of the men’s own ill-intent from his senses – such had indeed been the case.

 

“You are a lucky man,” the Informant said, sounding as though he also extended that sentiment to himself as well; a natural thing, Altaïr mused, for one who had escaped death so narrowly. “You are alive, and I am still in Acre. Here is what I have to tell: the only thing more dangerous than a drunken sailor is one who is also angry. I know it does not seem like much, but with your wisdom, I am sure it will help.”

 

 _A proverb?_ Altaïr mused, as the Informant hurried away, mindful of those who may have been interested in his progress for all the wrong reasons. It did not seem as though such a thing would be of any help to him with such a mission as the one before him now, and yet information was still information. Best he left it aside for the time being, and attended to the task at hand.

 

Turning his thoughts back to the information that he would need to gather to deal with Sibrand at last, Altaïr began to hear the sound of a man speaking at volume over an unhappy crowd. The reason for such unhappiness was clear: someone – likely Sibrand himself – had decreed that all ships were to be turned over to the Teutonic Knights, or those who owned and operated them would face imprisonment. Clearly, this man would know something about his target, and regardless: this was a thing that could not be allowed to stand.

 

Moving to confront the man making his speech to the crowds, Altaïr slowed to a walk; pacing the man so that he would not be seen by the still-grumbling citizens, even as they disbursed to go about what business they could in light of the new decree. Like as not, they would be pleased once he managed to rid them of Sibrand; one less Templar influence upon the city. Discreetly following the man as he made his way away from the stone overlook where he had been speaking, Altaïr smiled thinly as the unknowing man eventually made his way out of the sight of the guards – though there were more of them in Acre than in any other city he had set foot in thus far: more Templar influence, that – and into a narrow, blind alley where Altaïr could strike out at him without the risk of bringing the wrath of guards or Knights down upon his head.

 

However, this man was at least _somewhat_ skilled in the art of combat; a thing Altaïr wondered at even as he broke the man’s guard and beat down his resistance with sheer force. He had only a moment to wonder if the increased resistance he had faced from the man before him was a product of Sibrand’s increasing paranoia in the face of his fellow Templars’ deaths at Altaïr’s own hands, or if this man had simply known how to fight as well as being an adept speaker before a crowd.

 

“It’s not my fault!” the man shouted, once Altaïr had subdued the uncommon resistance that the man had put up. “I’m only following orders! If you want your ship back, speak with the court!”

 

“That’s not what I’m after,” he said simply.

 

“Then what?!”

 

“Sibrand’s claimed near a hundred ships,” he said, eyes narrowing; both in thought, and to further cow the man into submission so that he would continue speaking as he did. “For what purpose?”

 

“A blockade. They’re to sail for open water, and establish a perimeter,” the man said, his voice beginning to quaver just the slightest bit.

 

“For what?” he demanded. “Does Salah Al’din intend to strike from the sea?”

 

“No,” the man said quickly; more Templar trickery then, Altaïr mused. “It’s not _he_ we defend against, but ships from home! To deny Richard more troops!”

 

“Why would one of Richard’s own want to see him weakened in this way?” he demanded, wanting to know if this man was truly a part of Sibrand’s circle, or if his uncommon skill had merely been that: uncommon skill.

 

“I don’t know. Ask Sibrand,” the man said, the expression on his face one of genuine confusion; it seemed, then, that this one was indeed not a Templar. “They’re _his_ orders. I’m just meant to carry them out. Now, please, let me go? I’ve told you all I know.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he said; they were not empty words: he _did_ indeed regret the uninvolved lives that he needed to take. “I cannot risk you telling him I’m here.”

 

Finishing the man quickly and cleanly with his Hidden Blade, Altaïr made his way out of the alley and back into the bustling crowds of Acre before the guards could come to investigate the corpse that he had left behind. He’d no wish to expose himself, not now of all times, and certainly not in the face of a Templar who had already become aware of the swift death that stalked him and the rest of his brothers-in-arms.

 

His ears catching the sound of a conversation, Altaïr slowed so that he might hear it better.

 

“Deed’s done: I’ve moved the last of the food stores onto his ship this morning,” said a man; one of a pair of them, both wearing nondescript, shapeless, darkly-colored clothing.

 

“How much is that?” the other man asked.

 

“Enough for several weeks,” the first man said.

 

“What’s he planning, I wonder?” mused the second man; Altaïr suspected he knew the answer to such a question, suspected even that he _was_ the answer to such a question.

 

However, such was not a question that he was in a position to answer.

 

“Perhaps he intends to flee,” the first man said, scratching his head; either that or rubbing at his hair. Altaïr was not in a position to determine which. “Something’s got him very scared.” Altaïr smiled thinly. “Anyway, I must be off. He asked that I deliver a letter to a courier at Saint John’s Gate. I best not keep him waiting.”

 

Fixing his eyes on the first man who had been speaking for such a long time, Altaïr concentrated briefly and saw the man limed in soft gold, making him all the simpler to follow. Such a nondescript man would have been all too easily lost in the crowds otherwise. Moving swiftly and silently in a moment of the man’s inattention to his surroundings, Altaïr swept past him, lifting the letter and carefully secreting it away within a hidden pouch inside his own robes.

 

Breaking his own path away from where the man was still walking, Altaïr continued on his way through the city. He had a great deal more information than when he had first started – he knew _some_ of what to expect, at least – but there would perhaps be more he could find out within the city. More information that would provide him with an even greater advantage; particularly against a man like Sibrand.

 

Returning to the rooftops once more, he crossed to another alley and then descended once more back into the streets of Acre. His mind made up now: he _would_ search out as much information as he could find within the middle district, so that when the time came for him to deal with Sibrand, he would not be caught unprepared for what he might need to do. Opening his ears to the voices of the citizens around him once again, Altaïr found himself catching wind of another conversation.

 

This one between a Knight and a bald man in a black tunic:

 

“I’ll tell him myself,” the Knight said.

 

“No! I won’t have you damned soldiers poking about in my business,” the black-clad man said, an air of finality about him; Altaïr wondered if this one was brave, foolish, or just too angry to care about potential consequences.

 

“Listen here, old man-!”

 

“No! _You_ listen to me!” the old man snapped; it seemed he truly _was_ too angry to care about the consequences that his words could so easily bring down upon himself. “This is _my_ property, not his! I don’t care if Christ Himself put the man in charge!”

 

“He isn’t asking: it’s an order,” the Knight snapped.

 

The old man laughed harshly. “That’s rich. The man couldn’t order his way out of a burlap sack!” the old man said derisively. “I’ve seen the mess he’s made of the docks,” the old man said, gesturing back in the direction of such with off-handed contempt. “I won’t let him ruin mine!”

 

“Just read the letter,” the Knight said irritably; Altaïr looked up in interest. “You’ll see his terms are quite generous.”

 

“I grow tired of this,” the old man said dismissively. “I’ll consider what he has to offer, but I doubt it’ll change my mind,” the old man said, waving his right hand in dismissal of the Knight before him. “Now go on; get out of here.”

 

Stalking closer to the old man – bald, and white-bearded as the man was – Altaïr slipped past him and into the bustle of Acre at large, lifting the note as he went. Once that too had been accomplished, all without alerting the old graybeard to his presence, Altaïr continued to make his way through the city, all the while taking care to watch and listen for things that might be of interest to him.

 

Finding his way back through the middle district once more, Altaïr turned and turned to take in the city and the people around him, paying particular attention to any word about the docks, the conditions in the city at large, or mentions of Sibrand himself or the Knights Teutonic as a whole.

 

As he continued on his way through the city’s middle district, Altaïr chanced to come across another of the Informants that had been scattered throughout the city. It seemed to be his day for them, Altaïr mused, as he drew closer to the man in his travel-stained and hooded robes; one could mistake them as a true member of the Brotherhood, if one did not know what to look for.

 

The man himself was standing at ease in an alcove, within the shade of a well-maintained walled garden, just out of sight of anyone who might have thought to stroll through.

 

“Ah, Altaïr!” the man exclaimed, sounding unaccountably pleased to see him; most likely because of some difficulty he’d been having. “Demons are after me! Demons with a black cross! They want me dead. Me! Can you imagine?” Likely this Informant had been either careless or unlucky; with Sibrand’s growing paranoia, it was hard to tell the difference. “If you see them, tell them to go away: but use your blade. It’s the only language demons understand.” Altaïr would have sighed; even an Informant should know better than to stoop to superstition. “Please, return when you are done, and I will have something for you.”

 

With a sharp nod, to indicate both his understanding and his acceptance of this task that had been asked of him, Altaïr turned and left the walled alcove where the two of them had been speaking. Making his way back into the city at large, Altaïr concentrated and saw the citizens haloed in the colors of intent. Turning his gaze to those who had been limned in soft gold, Altaïr ascended to the rooftops so that he could once more stalk them without being seen.

 

A knife each for the five men who had threatened the life that he had been asked to save, and Altaïr was able to swiftly return to the man’s side. He wondered, even as he did so, just what tales such a timid one as that would be able to tell him, but then he was like as not to find out soon. Once he _had_ been given such information as the timid Informant was able to give him, Altaïr considered it and then stored it away for later. He’d become rather fed up with Informants in general – all of the running about had firmly reminded him again of just another reason why he had been so pleased to have Alnesr as his Apprentice – and so resolved to ignore any further encounters he might chance to have with them.

 

Turning his path deeper into the city once again, Altaïr settled himself down on a bench when he began to hear a rather pertinent conversation.

 

“It’s gettin’ worse,” the first of the pair of Knights that he had stopped to observe said.

 

“His paranoia knows no bounds,” the second one agreed.

 

“He’s doubled our shifts; no one sleeps,” the first said.

 

“It wasn’t so bad, ‘till he decided to make the port his home.”

 

“He’s planning something at sea,” the first said; Altaïr had thought as such. “That’s why he came here.”

 

“Planning _what_?” the second demanded, in a tone of incredulity. “What’s the meaning of this?”

 

“Look at the two of you: off in a corner, whispering! Plotting!” a larger Knight who had just arrived, this one with a square jaw, large frame, and pale blond hair.

 

“We weren’t doin’ nothing of the sort, we was only-”

 

“Only what?!” the large-framed Knight – from the fear visible in all three men’s body-language, Altaïr began to suspect that this new Knight was Sibrand himself – demanded. “What secrets are you keeping?!”

 

“You misunderstand,” the first Knight said, sounding cowed.

 

“Damned Assassins, they’re probably here right now!” the Knight who seemed more and more likely to be Sibrand himself raved. “Watching us! Do you find this amusing?! Do you?! Well laugh while you can! Double the patrols!”

 

“Which ones?” the first Knight asked.

 

“All of them!” the man Altaïr was almost certain was Sibrand raved.

 

“But, we don’t have the men,” the first Knight said, still clearly cowed in the face of Sibrand’s growing madness.

 

“Find them! Recall our Knights from the field if you must!”

 

Waiting a few moments after Sibrand had departed, just long enough for his Knights to do the same, Altaïr rose from the bench he’d been seated at and calmly blended back into the crowds. He had what information he needed, and could now return to the Bureau to speak with Jabal once more. And from there, take up Master Mualim’s marker, and see to it that Sibrand could no longer threaten the people of Acre ever again.

 

Regaining the rooftops once more, Altaïr swiftly made his way back to the Bureau’s entrance, and from there back down inside.

 

“Greetings, brother,” Jabal said, sounding pleased as ever to see him once more. “How fares your search?”

 

“I’ve learned all there is to know about my target,” he said, reflecting on what he had seen and heard when Sibrand had made himself known to him amid the discussion of those Knights.

 

“Share your knowledge with me, then,” Jabal instructed gently.

 

“Sibrand is said to be consumed by fear,” he stated; and, sure enough, he had seen ample evidence of that fear for himself. “Driven mad by the knowledge that his death approaches. He has sealed the docks district, and now hides within, waiting for his ship to arrive.”

 

“This will make things dangerous,” Jabal said, leaning over the counter he stood behind. “I wonder how it is that he learned of your mission?”

 

“The men I’ve killed: they are all connected. Master Mualim warned me that word of my deeds had spread among them,” he said; Jabal sighed heavily.

 

“Be on your guard, Altaïr,” Jabal said, reaching under his counter to fetch the marker, and then handing it over.

 

“Of course, Rafiq,” he said, pleased by his fellow’s concern even as he took the marker from him. “But I think this will be to my advantage: fear will weaken him.”

 

“Safety and peace then, brother,” Jabal said.

 

“Upon you as well, Rafiq,” he said, nodding to Jabal as he turned and made his way back out into the secondary room of the Bureau.

 

A short rest quickly fortified him for the task that he was soon to undertake, and Altaïr swiftly rose from the pile of sheets and cushions that served as bedding. Scaling the wall, he regained the rooftops once more and swiftly began making for the docks. It was more than likely, given the blind panic that Sibrand was now prey to, that he would have to move quickly to catch up with the man before he was able to cast off.

 

Once he had reached a point close enough to the docks to be within sight of them when he descended once more from the rooftops, Altaïr did so when he found an empty corridor. Making his way over to the gathered crowd, Altaïr blended in among them and waited for the moment when he would be able to strike. However, it seemed that Sibrand had something else to distract him.


	57. Sibrand

“Y-you are mistaken, Master Sibrand,” a man dressed in the white robes of the priesthood said, his nervous stutter audible even from where Altaïr stood among the back of the gathered crowd; clearly, Sibrand’s paranoia had claimed another. “I would never propose violence against a-any man. And most certainly not against _you_.”

 

Sure enough, this was indeed the Knight that he had seen during his time spent observing the interactions of two of his fellow Knights. It was more than clear, now that he was seeing the man closer, that the paranoia he had seen and been told of was nothing less than the complete truth. Sibrand was as heavily armed as he had ever seen a man; moreso than even Talal, Tamir, or Majd Addin; his belt was laden with swords, and he had a full quiver of arrows.

 

“So you say,” the Knight snarled. “And yet, no one here will vouch for you. What am I to make of this?”

 

“I live a simple life, my lord,” the priest said; Altaïr could see that he had begun to shiver, and he could hear the fear in the man’s voice. “As do all men of the cloth. It is not for us to call attention to ourselves.”

 

“Perhaps,” Sibrand said, closing his eyes briefly; then they snapped open, alit with fury. “Or perhaps they do not know you because you are not a man of God, but an Assassin!” Sibrand shoved the priest, off-balancing the old man and causing him to fall to the ground; the old man scrambled back to his feet.

 

“No; never,” he insisted.

 

“You wear the same robes,” the Knight growled; Altaïr reflected that the guise of the Assassins was a useful thing, even though some innocents such as this man were made to suffer for the fear of those who tried to escape their fate.

 

“If they cover themselves as we do, it is only to instill uncertainty and fear,” the priest said, clearly desperate to escape from Sibrand and his madness before it could consume him. “You must not give in!”

 

“Are you calling me a coward?!” Sibrand snarled. “Challenging my authority?! Perhaps hoping to turn my own knights against me?!”

 

“No- _no_! I-I don’t understand why you’re doing this to me,” the old man stuttered, terrified. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”

 

“I don’t recall accusing you of any wrongdoing,” Sibrand snapped. “Which makes your outburst rather odd. Is it the presence of guilt that compels your confession?!”

 

“But- but I confessed nothing!”

 

“Ah, defiant until the end!” Sibrand shouted in triumph. “How like your kind!”

 

“What do you mean?!” Altaïr watched as the old priest’s expression turned swiftly from confusion to fear, and then to desperation and hopelessness.

 

“Garnier and William were too confident, and they both paid for that with their lives,” Sibrand hissed. “I won’t make the same mistake: if you are truly a man of God, then surely the Creator will provide for you. Let Him stay my hand!”

 

“You’ve gone mad!” the old priest cried out in terror, turning an imploring gaze upon the spectators within the crowd. “Will none of you come forward to stop this?! He is clearly poisoned by his own fear! Compelled to see enemies where none exist!”

 

None of those within the crowd, however, were willing to make themselves the targets of Sibrand’s outraged paranoia. And Altaïr, though he pitied the old man for his misfortune, could not allow his mission to be compromised for the sake of one life. Acre would be better for Sibrand’s death, and no more would die like this old man. He could hold his peace for the sake of that.

 

“It seems that the people share my concern,” Sibrand said, his madness clearly vindicated within his own mind. “What I do, I do for Acre.”

 

Altaïr narrowed his eyes, watching as Sibrand drove his long sword into the old priest’s gut, twisted, and then pulled the blade free. Wiping it clean as the old priest writhed, dying, upon the ground at his feet. Sibrand’s underlings, more of his Knights, picked up the corpse and threw it into the water. Sibrand watched the priest’s body sink slowly away, a look of contempt on his face.

 

“Stay vigilant, men,” Sibrand ordered. “Report any suspicious activity to the guard. I doubt we’ve seen the last of these Assassins. Persistent bastards,” he growled. “Now get back to work.”

 

Moving closer, careful to make certain that he remained concealed by the crowds still milling about on the dock, Altaïr observed Sibrand as the man and two of his Knights climbed into a rowboat and cast off. Watching as they navigated through the crowded waters, through the maze of boats, and up to a skiff anchored far out in the water. Sibrand’s gaze was frantic now; as though he thought his death was going to come from the water itself.

 

And, Altaïr mused, that was precisely what he was going to do.

 

Moving to the nearest of the hulks that he had spotted, Altaïr jumped onto it and began to make his way across the water. The boats were as good as a road to someone with his skill, and soon enough he was making his way closer to the skiff where Sibrand had taken shelter. He could hear the Knight ordering his guards to hunt him down. Growling softly deep within his throat as he spotted a sentry looking his way, Altaïr sent a throwing blade at the man, and cursed the fact that he’d not been able to properly prepare his kill.

 

Just as he’d expected, the sentry’s corpse fell into the water with a flat splash, alerting Sibrand to the fact that the man had encountered him.

 

“I know you’re out there, Assassin!” the man screamed, unslinging his bow. “How long do you think you can hide?! I’ve a hundred men scouring the docks! They’ll find you, and when they do you’ll suffer for your sins!”

 

Staying close to the frame of a platform, out of sight of any of those who might be hunting him, Altaïr moved forward and every closer. Sibrand was calling upon him to show himself, ranting and raving in such a way as to make his fear all the more obvious to one who had tasted such before. Putting aside the words of the dead man he was stalking, Altaïr started up the side of the skiff and dropped back to the deck plating; Sibrand was already dead, killed as much by his own fear as Altaïr’s actions.

 

It was time the Knight was made to understand that.

 

“Please… don’t do this,” the Knight pleaded, even as Altaïr had deployed his Hidden Blade to deal with him at last.

 

“You are afraid,” he commented; it was not an uncommon thing, to see the man he hunted in such states, and in this case he had come to expect it.

 

Truly, anyone who looked would have seen the Knight’s fear.

 

“Of course I am afraid!” Sibrand retorted, his tone that of one who was speaking to an imbecile.

 

“But you’ll be safe now,” he said, wondering just what it was that Sibrand still feared; now at the end of things. “Held in the arms of your God.”

 

Sibrand’s laugh was more akin to the bark of a wounded dog. “Have my brothers taught you nothing? I know what waits for me. For all of us.”

 

“If not your God, then what?”

 

“Nothing,” Sibrand said, a broken, despairing smile on his face. “Nothing waits. And that is what I fear.”

 

“You don’t believe?”

 

“How could I, given what I know?” the Knight asked. “What I’ve seen? Our treasure was the proof.”

 

“Proof of what?” he asked.

 

“That this life is all we have.”

 

“Linger awhile longer, then,” he said. “And tell me of the part you were to play.”

 

“A blockade by sea,” the Knight said. “To keep the fool kings and queens from sending reinforcements. Once we had… once we…”

 

“Conquered the Holy Land?” he prompted, to see what Sibrand would say in response.

 

The Knight coughed wetly, slathering his lips and teeth with fresh blood. “ _Freed_ it, you fool. From the tyranny of faith.”

 

“Freedom?” he echoed; it was not a word he’d ever expected to hear from a Templar. “You worked to overthrow cities. Control men’s minds. Murdered any who spoke against you-”

 

“I followed my orders, believing in my cause,” Sibrand cut him off, his eyes already becoming glassy and unfocused in death. “Same as you…”

 

“Do not be afraid,” he said, reaching out to gently close the Knight’s eyes at last.

 

Rising quickly from his crouch, Altaïr swiftly made his way back across the water – jumping from boat, to post, to boat, to dock – until he stood once more upon solid ground. He was pleased to have returned: while the needs of his mission might have dictated that he cross the water, such had never been a thing that he preferred. And, while it was true that he _could_ swim if he was called upon by circumstances to do so, it was not a thing that he enjoyed doing.


	58. Returning with questions

Returning to the rooftops as the alarm bells of Acre began to toll, Altaïr took a moment to conceal himself from the searching eyes of a group of archers, then resumed his swift pace once more. Once he had returned to the Bureau for the second time that day, he made his way back down into the cool, shadowed darkness of the back room. Stepping down from the ornamental fountain once more, Altaïr continued into the Bureau’s front room.

 

“Altaïr, you’ve caused quite a stir,” Jabal said, smiling with gentle good-humor.

 

“I’ve done as requested: Sibrand’s life is ended,” he said, offering the bloodstained marker back again to Jabal.

 

“So it is,” the Rafiq said, taking back the marker as Altaïr handed it to him. “You should ride for Masyaf and inform Al Mualim of your success.”

 

“Yes,” he said, already contemplating just what he would say to the Master when they met again; and what he would ask, as well. “I should speak to him. Of this and other things.”

 

“Is everything all right, my friend?” Jabal asked, and Altaïr was pleased to note the genuine concern both in Jabal’s tone and his eyes. “You seem… distant.”

 

“It’s nothing, Rafiq,” he said, not wishing to trouble the other man with a thing that was, in the end, his problem to see solved. “Just a lot on my mind.”

 

“Talk to me,” Jabal said, his tone kindly. “Let me help.”

 

“I need to make sense of this myself, first,” he said. “But, thank you for the offer.”

 

“It is the men you kill, isn’t it?” Jabal asked; the man _had_ always been perceptive. Altaïr was not certain that such a thing was a boon to him, now of all times. “You feel… something for them.”

 

“How did you know?” he asked; yes, it was true that he’d always known Jabal to be observant, but he’d liked to think that he was more opaque than most.

 

“Ah, my friend, you are not _meant_ to enjoy these grim tasks,” Jabal said, pacing behind his counter as he spoke. “Regret, uncertainty, sympathy; this is to be expected.”

 

“I should not fear these feelings?” It was, perhaps, a rhetorical question, but he wanted to know how Jabal would answer.

 

“You should _embrace_ them,” Jabal said with certainty. “They are what keep you human.”

 

“What if I’m wrong?” he asked, wanting more certainty than he had, though he knew even as he asked that Jabal was not likely to provide such for him. “What if these men are not meant to die? What if they mean well? Misguided, perhaps, but pure in motive?” It was a thing that he had come to ask himself more and more often, of late, and while it felt good to speak such words aloud, Altaïr did not hope for an answer from Jabal.

 

“I am but a Rafiq, Altaïr,” Jabal said, just as Altaïr had known he would. “And such things are beyond me. Perhaps Al Mualim can help you to make sense of it.”

 

“Yes,” he said; it was not surprising to him, to hear such a thing. He’d not been hoping for answers here, after all. “Perhaps. Thank you, Rafiq.”

 

“It is my pleasure to have served with one as skillful as you,” Jabal said, nodding in gentle dismissal.

 

Knowing that it was best that he get some rest before he started for Masyaf once more – both so that he would be more alert during his journey, and so that the guards would be given time to conduct their searches and find them to be fruitless – Altaïr made his way back into the secondary room of the Bureau, and there settled himself down to rest. Once he had awakened from his rest, Altaïr climbed back up to the rooftops, and began to make his way out of Acre once more.


	59. Damascus once more

Leaving the city in much the same way he had entered – over the heads of those who had been set to guard it – Altaïr made his way back to the stable where he had left the horse he’d rode out of Masyaf. Mounting up once more, he made his way away from the battle-scarred walls of Acre once more. Breathing more easily once he had returned to the open road once more, Altaïr drank some of his water and mentally prepared himself for a long journey.

 

As the days passed, each one of them bringing him closer to Masyaf and the citadel of the Brotherhood that presided over the valley, Altaïr considered just what it was that he would ask of Master Mualim when the two of them occasioned to meet again. He would ask as to Alnesr’s welfare, of course; apprenticed to him or not, he still cared a great deal for the younger Assassin and wished him well. He would also ask just what the Templars that he hunted ultimately wished to accomplish.

 

What their ultimate aims were, and if they might be reasoned with.

 

Once he’d come within sight of Masyaf once more, Altaïr breathed more deeply and easily than he had during the time that he had been traveling. Here, at least, he would begin to gain more of the answers he sought. Leaving his horse with the stable hands, Altaïr dismounted and began making his way back into the citadel itself. Ascending through the varied levels of the fortress, he soon found himself entering Master Mualim’s study once more.

 

“Welcome home, child,” Master Mualim greeted him cordially, and Altaïr nodded his head with respect. “What news?”

 

“Another of the named is put to rest,” he reported.

 

“Then it would appear your work is nearly complete, and your status restored,” the Master said, sounding nearly as pleased as Altaïr felt at the prospect.

 

“A question, Master, if I may?”

 

“You need not worry so about the fate of your adopted son,” the Master said, a kindly smile on his face. “He fares very well, and still speaks quite highly of you.”

 

“My thanks for your consideration, Master, but that was not what I meant to ask,” he said; and he _was_ pleased to know that Alnesr remained well, though he would have been far more pleased to speak with the younger Assassin in person.

 

“What is, then?”

 

“Why _these_ men?” he asked. “Jubair and Sibrand?”

 

“Ah, don’t you see?” Master Mualim asked, in the tone of one who was imparting yet another lesson. “They paved the way for change. Ensure that threats both old and new are not given cause to intervene.”

 

“To weaken them is to weaken our enemy,” he stated. “I suppose that makes sense.”

 

“Were these men to continue their work, our own work would quickly be undone,” Master Mualim said, his tone as stern and serious as Altaïr had ever heard it.

 

“How is that?” he asked, certain that he had failed to see some connection that the Master would soon explain to him. “We’ve caused them much grief.”

 

“We strike at the arms, yes, but this is a hydra that you face,” the Master said, gesturing widely to emphasize the point that he was making. “And it is quick to replace that which is severed.”

 

“Then we should lop off its head and be done with this,” he said, his resolve becoming more firm with every word that he and the Master spoke with one another.

 

“Soon. _Soon_ ,” the Master said. “We are close; only one more man stands between us and our ultimate goal.”

 

“I will return to my work,” he said, nodding to the Master. “The sooner this last man dies, the sooner I might face our true enemy.”

 

“Before you go, _I_ have a question for _you_ ,” the Master said.

 

“Of course,” he said, stopping before he could even begin to make his way out of the Master’s study and back to his own room; eager though he might have been to have this particular task over and done with, Altaïr knew that it would be best that he took some rest before he began the return journey to Damascus once again.

 

“What _is_ the truth?”

 

“We place faith in ourselves; we see the world the way it _really_ is,” he said; as he had learned from Master Mualim, and then taught to Alnesr in his own turn. “And hope that, one day, all mankind might see the same.”

 

“What is the world, then?”

 

“An illusion,” he said. “One that we can either submit to, as most do, or transcend.”

 

“And what is it, to transcend?” the Master asked, seeming pleased with his understanding thus far.

 

“To recognize that laws arise not from divinity, but from reason. I understand now that our Creed does not command us to be free, it commands us to be wise.”

 

He fully understood that now, and he wondered for a moment if such an understanding had been one of the lessons that he had successfully imparted to Alnesr, or if the younger Assassin had reasoned it out for himself. He would have to speak to his fellow Assassin, once Alnesr had finished with his own work and was hence given the opportunity to return to Masyaf once more.

 

“Do you see now why the Templars are a threat?”

 

He did, in fact, understand just what it was that the Master had seen in them; a thing that even Altaïr himself had not. “Whereas we would dispel the illusion, they would use it to rule.”

 

“Yes,” the Master said, nodding solemnly. “To reshape the world in an image more pleasing to them. That is why I sent you and your fellows to steal their treasure. That is why I keep it locked away. And that is why you kill them. So long as even one survives, so too does their desire to create a New World Order. You must now seek out Jubair. With his death, Robert de Sable will at last be vulnerable.”

 

“It will be done, Master,” he said, bowing slightly.

 

“Take some rest, and then return to your work,” the Master said kindly.

 

Bidding the Master to have a good rest himself, Altaïr turned and made his way out of the Master’s study and away from the tower where he kept himself. Yawning as he walked, Altaïr almost found himself making his way toward Alnesr’s new quarters, but the younger Assassin was not likely to be present at the moment, and such a thing would have served no purpose in the end. And so he turned his path back towards his own room, and soon enough found himself there.

 

The next morning, after he had taken the rest he needed and come out all the more refreshed for it, Altaïr made his way down to the stables so that he would be able to mount a horse and continue with his work. Taking a horse that had been provisioned for a long journey once more, Altaïr rode for Damascus for the final time.

 

The journey itself was as calm as he could expect, and he was pleased in a distant sort of way to be able to complete the last of his tasks before he would be able to come to grips with Robert de Sable at last. Making his way up to the stables that he’d used so many times before, Altaïr left his horse with one of the hands, and then made his way closer to the walls of Damascus once more. Naturally, he would need to make his way inside the city once more, and without being detected so that he would not compromise the Brotherhood as he had so carelessly done when he had faced de Sable for the first time, but Altaïr had confidence in his own training and experience.

 

He had already done such a thing twice before, after all.

 

Searching for a few moments, hearing the eager cries of those merchants who had stationed themselves outside the city walls so as to be able to cater to weary travelers, Altaïr quickly found a group of scholars making their unhurried way towards the gates of the city. Managing to pass under the very gaze of the guards who had been emplaced before the gates, Altaïr waited until he was beyond their sight before he left the group of scholars behind.

 

Standing within the walls of Damascus – he could not truly say that he was safe, for no Assassin was truly safe outside the walls of Masyaf – Altaïr began making his own way within the city. He knew that he would be best served by making his way to the Damascus Bureau so that he might speak with the Rafiq and so gain more information about his current target Jubair, but he also knew that such information might very easily come to him beforehand; best he kept his ears open as he walked, Altaïr decided.


	60. Tales of a mad scholar

As he continued on his way through the city, taking to the rooftops once he was free of the crowds and could do such without being remarked upon, Altaïr began to make for Damascus’ Bureau. It seemed that he was not to find what information he sought before he made his way there, after all. Clearly, he would need some more precise directions for his wandering.

 

Coming upon the rooftop entrance once more, Altaïr climbed down into the building at last and made his way into the main room. To meet up once more with the Rafiq, and to gain the information that would allow him to remove this latest canker from Damascus.

 

“It’s the hero of Damascus!” the insolent Rafiq greeted him once more, arms spread wide; if there was one thing he would truly enjoy after having completed his task, it would be not having to deal with this insolent man for a great long time. “Come in! Stay awhile. Tell me all about your adventures!”

 

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time,” he said, not bothering to conceal the coldness of his tone.

 

“I see,” the insolent Rafiq said. “Too important for me now.”

 

“It’s not that,” he said simply.

 

“No. No, of course not,” the man said airily. “How may I serve you, then?”

 

“Al Mualim has asked that I take the life of the one they call Jubair,” he stated.

 

“Ah, Salah Al’din’s chief scholar,” the man commented. “Strange choice of target, in my opinion. But who are we to question the Master’s will? I’m sure he has his reasons.”

 

“Then you’re familiar with the man,” he prompted; he’d not thought that the Rafiq’s insolence would extend even to questioning the words of the Master, and yet Altaïr could not find it within himself to be surprised.

 

“He’s been quite busy these past few days,” the insolent Rafiq said. “Organizing the scholars and sending them into the streets to preach.”

 

“What do they speak of?” he asked; it could not have been anything good, given that the Master had sent him to end the man behind the words being spoken.

 

To say nothing of the fact that Jubair, akin to the rest of the nine, was a Templar.

 

“Light and fire; cleansing sins; apocalyptic nonsense if you ask me,” the man said, with a dismissive wave of his hands. “All this talk of paths, and a new world.”

 

“What about this new world?” he asked; it was exactly the words he would have expected from a Templar, yes, and so he was not surprised to hear that Jubair had spoken them.

 

“Couldn’t say,” the man said, with a dismissive wave of his hands. “I don’t pay much attention to the ramblings of madmen. Much too busy with _real_ work.”

 

“Very well,” he said; he could not berate the man for having little interest in the words of a Templar who was nor long for this world in any case. “I’ll walk among the people; see what they have to say.” He’d been planning to do such in the first place, as he had done in so many others. “Where would you suggest I begin my search?”

 

“South of here you’ll find an academy and a guard tower,” the man said, waving in the general direction that he had spoken of. “They are both good places to search. There’s also a hospital to the east you might want to visit.”

 

“I’ll begin at once,” he said.

 

“So eager!” the insolent Rafiq said, and Altaïr narrowed his eyes slightly at the man’s mocking tone; he’d be more than pleased not to be forced to endure the man’s company once he was finished with the tasks that had been set before him. “You have truly changed! And for the better, I might add.”

 

Turning to leave without another word to the insolent Rafiq, Altaïr made his way back into the back room and out of the rooftop entrance once more. Pausing a moment to regain his composure and loosen his muscles, Altaïr made his way across the rooftops and then back down to the ground once more. Blending into the meandering crowds, allowing himself to pass under their gazes the same way that he had passed under the eyes of the guards at the gates of this city before he had even come into it, Altaïr listened for any mentions of Jubair or what exactly it was that he had been doing.

 

When he had at last made his way into a more wealthy-looking part of the city – not quite as opulent as the richer quarters where he had hunted for Abu’l Nuqoud, but far from appearing poor – Altaïr began to hear the sound of yet another conversation; though this one seemed far more pertinent to his interests than any he’d yet heard.

 

“Please, I must go,” a man in wine-dark robes and cap said to another he was facing; this one wearing a white counterpart to that one that he had on. “This letter must be delivered, and I cannot risk upsetting him.”

 

“Listen to yourself,” the man in white spat scornfully. “You are his _puppet_! Give up this task, and join us in our fight!”

 

“No,” the first man said; Altaïr wondered for a moment if he worked for the Templar, or if there was another consideration at hand. “I have a wife and child to think about.”

 

Altaïr bowed his head slightly; ever would the Templars seek to corrupt the bonds that held men together, corrupting them and turning them to their own use. It was yet another reason that he felt vindicated whenever he removed one from the world. That, and the fact that such things needed to be done.

 

“Which is precisely why I’ve come to you,” the man in white said; Altaïr sighed softly. Such matters were never simply resolved on any side. “Is _this_ the kind of world you want your son brought up in?!”

 

“It will pass,” the first man said, sounding as though he _wanted_ to believe it, but couldn’t quite manage to make himself do so. “If we just wait, he’ll stop,” there was a slight stutter to the first man’s words when he said such. “And everything will go back to normal.”

 

“Every day _more_ is lost,” the man in white said, sounding like the desperation of his cause was beginning to take a personal toll on him. Altaïr wondered what it was that was being lost to Jubair’s Templar sensibilities. “And no way to reclaim what was taken. There will _be_ no going back,” the man in white hissed. “You _know_ this to be true!”

 

“Enough,” the first man said wearily; Altaïr could not find it in himself to blame him, simply for wishing to protect those most dear to him. “I am leaving.”

 

As the two parted ways as they said they would, Altaïr fell into step behind the first man, quickly reliving him of the missive that he had been given to him. Without breaking stride, Altaïr parted from the man even as he wished him well within the confines of his own mind. Soon enough, all of the citizens who had been forced to live their lives under Jubair’s stranglehold would be set free.

 

This he silently promised to everyone in Damascus; they would never know, but the fact that their work was done anonymously in the name of the people was at once their greatest protection, and a safety against hubris. _He_ might not have guarded himself against it as well as might have been prudent, but it was still a safety.

 

Moving on through the city, careful and attentive as he had always been to the matters pertinent to his targets while he was hunting, Altaïr took note of an Informant standing out of the way of the foot-traffic within Damascus. Such was _all_ he did, however; he well knew how onerous the tasks that those ones would ask of him were, and he’d no interest in attending to any more of them.

 

Moving on before anyone within the crowd could thing to wonder what it was that he was about, Altaïr opened his ears once more and began to take in the words of the citizens as they continued about their daily lives. Those who did not – who _could_ not – know of his work, or the true danger that the Templars posed to them; sometimes he envied them their ignorance. And yet, his work was a worthy one, and Altaïr would not have traded the life he had for any other even if such a thing _were_ possible.

 

Smiling briefly at the nature of his reflections, Altaïr turned his mind back to the business that he still had before him; there were still matters that needed attending to, and as it was now his duty to see that Jubair paid for his crimes against the citizens of Damascus in the most final way possible, Altaïr would carry that duty out to the utmost of his ability.

 

As he continued on his way deeper into the city, leaving the informant and the onerous task that he would have more than likely been asked to do by the man behind, Altaïr opened his ears to the conversations around him once more. Listening for any other mentions of Jubair, his scholars, or anything that might have also been useful to him considering the mission he was now undertaking. For a moment, as he continued on his way through the city, Altaïr reflected on what he had done to bring himself to this point.

 

It had certainly not been an easy road, the one which had led him to where he was now; stalking the nine Templars – seven of whom he had come to grips with at last – working under Robert de Sable, after he had made a foolish attack on the Templar Grand Master and dishonored himself and the Brotherhood as a whole. He was grateful to Master Mualim for giving him the chance to redeem his mistakes. And also for taking care of Alnesr while his former Apprentice grew into a man.

 

Turning his attention back to the task at hand once more, Altaïr continued to move deeper into Damascus, on the trail of those who might have the information he sought for the mission he had at hand.

 

The warm air was filled with the cries of merchants selling their wares, citizens running to and fro on various errands of their own, and those who continued to speak out about King Richard and his depredations. Altaïr ignored those, knowing that Richard was merely a symptom of one man’s seeking to control the thoughts and actions of others by force, rather than leading them to the truth through logic and reason. It was a foolish thing, but Altaïr found that he could indeed understand the wish for speed in such matters.

 

He could not condone it, and in particular the price that acting on such an impulse imposed upon those innocents that found themselves caught between those who gave into that impulse and the goal they sought.

 

Hearing a man speaking in terms of destroying texts and making a new world – terms that came easily from the mouths of Templars and those who allied closely with them – Altaïr paused in a well-appointed courtyard to listen to the man speaking such terms.

 

“This is our chance to begin anew!” said a man in travel-stained robes and sash – dusty enough that their true color could not be told from where Altaïr stood – presiding over the courtyard where Altaïr had found him. “Let Jubair lead you to a revelation! Let him lead you to the light!” that same talk of light; just as he’d heard from some of those who’d been taken by Naplouse. “Jubair sees things the way they truly are!” Altaïr scoffed, as the corrupt scholar continued. “Sees the poison you carry in your hearts and minds! He works to cast it out! Remove all texts from your homes and schools! Give them to us! The must be destroyed!”

 

Moving forward once the corrupted scholar had left the courtyard behind him, Altaïr followed the man out beyond the sight of the guards, and into an empty alleyway where he then pummeled the man into submission. It took a few, long moments before the man had taken enough of a beating so that he was motivated to speak, but Altaïr’s own strength and skill eventually won out in the end.

 

“Violence is not the answer, my child!” the corrupt scholar said.

 

 _You’re a fine one to talk,_ Altaïr didn’t bother saying. “In this, we agree. So speak, and I may stay my blade. What is it your master intends? Why destroy all this knowledge?”

 

“We lay the stones to build a road upon which, someday, all men will travel. It leads to a better tomorrow!”

 

“That is not what I see,” he said simply.

 

“Then you are blind,” the corrupt scholar said, the fanaticism becoming clear in his voice and on his face. “The words upon these parchments, they are poison! Jubair has the cure! He will free us from their lies!”

 

“It’s nonsense you speak,” he said, knowing that there would be no reasoning with the fanatic that this man had proven himself to be. “You’ve lost your mind.”

 

“Not lost, but found! I see the world the way it truly is! He has shown me _so_ much! I am illuminated!”

 

“A fanatic is all you are,” he said; Altaïr himself was not quite certain whether he pitied the man more than he scorned him, or the reverse, a thing he was sure reflected in his tone. “And dangerous for it.”

 

“Do what you must,” the corrupted scholar said, clearly not regretting his fate in his madness; Altaïr decided then that he pitied him. “It changes nothing. We are not afraid.”

 

“Go in peace, then,” he said, taking the corrupted scholar’s life, and wishing him well in whatever awaited him at the end of things.

 

As he moved into the flow of people once more, matching his pace to that of the citizens all around him, Altaïr turned his mind back to seeking what information the people here might have for him. Ascending to the rooftops so that he might travel faster for a time, he descended back to street-level once more and resumed his search. Listening in on what the citizens were talking of as he moved through among them, and yet apart from them as he always was, Altaïr found another pair of men speaking of matters that pertained to Jubair and his stranglehold on Damascus.

 

“We found the place: it’s just as you described it,” one of the men – both of them dressed in off-white robes, and with head-coverings of the same color – said to his companion.

 

“I suspect he’ll want to deal with this himself,” the other man, stockier than the first, stated. “And quickly. Best we say nothing to the others.”

 

“A wise course of action,” the first stated. “Truth be told, I’ll be happy when all of this business is done.”

 

“Soon, my friend, soon,” the second said, clapping a reassuring hand on his companion’s shoulder. “This day should see the last of them put to the torch. Boy, come here!” A younger man, this one clad in a dark, earthy brown robe with a narrow sash, came over to the pair of scholars. _Interesting,_ Altaïr mused, continuing to watch for his moment. “You still have the letter I gave you?”

 

“Yes,” the boy answered calmly; Altaïr smiled.

 

“Go and deliver it,” the second of the scholars who had been speaking said. “You’ll find the one its meant for inside the Madrasah.”

 

Moving in behind his chosen target with all the stealth that he had been justly famed for, Altaïr swept easily past the young man and smoothly vanished back into the crowds. Clearly, the Madrasah was important to Jubair in some way. Making up his mind that he would return to the Bureau and its insolent Rafiq after he had conducted a last investigation – no sense in giving the man yet another reason to berate him when he returned – Altaïr melted back into the crowds and began searching for another mention of the mad scholar whose trail he was tasked to discover.

 

As he continued on his way through the thronging crowds, searching for any indication that those he was surrounded by knew anything of the man he was seeking. Soon enough, however, Altaïr began to hear the sounds of men speaking of his present target.

 

“I wish to see him, to hear him speak,” said yet another fallen scholar to one of his brethren, the two of them standing in a walled courtyard with a small fountain at the center.

 

“It can be arranged,” said the other, leaning in slightly as the two of them spoke. “But we must be careful. There are still those who reject illumination. They would harm him.”

 

Altaïr forced himself not to scoff; they were fine ones to talk about harm, with what they were assisting Jubair to do.

 

“Then they are ignorant and afraid.”

 

“You seem sincere,” the first of the scholars said. “But, how do I know I can trust you?”

 

“It pains me that you feel even the slightest need to ask the question,” the second scholar said.

 

“Very well: we gather each day in the Madrasah; he comes to speak, and then leads us into the city, that we might cleanse it.”

 

“Could I join you, then?” the second scholar, a rather excitable sort, it seemed, asked.

 

The two of them continued on in that way for some time after that, Altaïr absorbing what he could manage until the two fallen scholars – he could find it in himself to forgive the younger of them, since he at least seemed to be earnest, if misguided in the extreme – ceased their conversation and left the courtyard behind them. Rising from his seat on a stone bench near to where the scholars had been speaking to one another. Making his way out of the courtyard, Altaïr took a moment to assure himself that none of the milling citizens of Damascus were in a position to observe him, then ascended back to the rooftops once more.

 

Swiftly making his way back to the Bureau, not entirely pleased to be once more forced to deal with the insolent Rafiq once more but at least pleased to know that he would not be forced to do such for so much longer, Altaïr alighted for a moment on the roof before climbing back down into the Bureau itself. The cooler air wrapped around him as he stepped inside, and Altaïr breathed deeply of it as he made his way into the shadowed main room of the Assassins’ stronghold in Damascus.

 

“What news, Altaïr?”

 

“I’ve learned much about my enemy,” he said, pleased with the prospect of having this mission in particular done with.

 

“Share what you know, then,” the Rafiq said, gesturing for him to speak.

 

“Jubair has become obsessed with purging the city of its knowledge,” he said, his disapproval for such an action plain in his tone.

 

“A most terrible crime. Now I see why Al Mualim wants you to remove him,” the Rafiq stated, clearly dismayed.

 

Altaïr was pleased not to be confronted with the man’s insolence, but he had no time to dwell on such feelings. “He’s using the city’s scholars to assist him,” Altaïr snapped, not sure for a moment if he was more disdainful of Jubair himself, or of those who would do his bidding without question. “They go out into the streets, harassing the people and collecting all their written works,” he continued, not quite able to keep a snarl out of his tone. “I fear he intends to destroy them _all_.”

 

“He _must_ be stopped!”

 

“That’s why I’m here,” he replied, having mastered himself. “He’s to hold a meeting soon. At the Madrasah Al-Kallāsah. It’s where I’ll go; it’s where I’ll take his life.”

 

Taking the feather that the Rafiq placed on the counter for him, Altaïr waited a moment to see if the man would say anything more.

 

“I’ll leave you alone to prepare,” the Rafiq said, and Altaïr was pleased to note that there was none of his usual insolence; perhaps he had finally managed to change the man’s opinion. “Bring glory to the Brotherhood.”

 

Nodding, he continued on his way into the entrance room of the Bureau, there to take a short rest before he commenced with the execution of his latest target.


	61. Jubair al Hakim

Waking refreshed, as he usually did after such a rest as he had taken, Altaïr made his way back up and out onto the rooftop of the Bureau. Taking a moment to savor his freedom once more, he swiftly began to make his way across the rooftops once more. Clearing the ways that remained between him and his next destination, Altaïr found himself standing atop a rooftop that overlooked his present target.

 

The thick, cloying scent of burning paper sickened him, as did the sight of countless books being burned in the courtyard below him. Altaïr knew that his own father, Umar, would have been equally as disgusted by such a practice as he found himself now. Every Assassin would have been disgusted to see what Altaïr beheld here and now: books were full of knowledge, and knowledge was the key to freedom and power.

 

He knew that as well as any Assassin; he’d forgotten for a time, yes, but he knew such once more.

 

He stood, just out of sight of any of those who might chance to look up, on the ledge of a rooftop overlooking the Madrasah Al-Kallāsah where Jubair had chosen to stay while he enacted his mad plan. The smoke from the large fire at the center of the courtyard rose up towards him, but all of the attention was focused on the task being carried out; all of the scholars that Jubair had deceived or forced into following along with his mad scheme were concentrating on their work.

 

Jubair himself was overseeing the work: barking orders at the scholars scurrying around at his beck and call. All of them were hard at work, save for one. That one was staring into the heart of the fire, his expression echoing Altaïr’s own thoughts.

 

Jubair himself wore leather boots, a black headscarf, and a dangerous scowl. Moving slightly closer, Altaïr mused upon what he had learned about the man while he had been going about his investigations within the city the man had such a powerful hold over. The man was apparently the chief scholar of Damascus, but only in name: it was, after all, not a typical scholar who insisted on not spreading knowledge but rather on its destruction. For that, he had enlisted – or else forced – the aid of the scholars and academics that Salah Al’din encouraged to come into the city.

 

He wondered just what this plan of Jubair’s might have been; if it had been a plan made by his Templar compatriots. If it was merely one more facet of their plans for a “New World” that he had been hearing about of late.

 

“Every single text in this city must be destroyed!”

 

Standing in the courtyard below him, Jubair was exhorting the scholars around him with a fanatic’s zeal; they scurried about, arms laden with books, scrolls and other written works, bringing them from some location hidden from Altaïr’s sight into the bonfire in the center of the courtyard. Out of the corner of his left eye, however, Altaïr could see the scholar who had earlier been standing by the side of the bonfire fretting becoming even more agitated than he had been before.

 

“My friend, you must not do this,” the scholar said, his jovial tone belying his clear distress. “Much knowledge rests within these parchments; put there by our ancestors for good reason.”

 

“And what _reason_ is this?” Jubair snarled, the expression on his face becoming one of naked contempt.

 

“They are beacons meant to guide us; to save us from the darkness that is ignorance,” the scholar implored.

 

The flames danced at his back, growing ever taller and larger as the scholars crowding the courtyard dumped more written works upon the bonfire that was still steadily burning. Some of them, however, had begun to cast nervous glances to where Jubair and the scholar protesting his actions – a man whose courage Altaïr could respect, even as he mourned the fact that Jubair was more than likely to kill him – were standing.

 

“No,” the Templar snapped, taking a step forward and forcing the protesting scholar to take a step back in fright. “These bits of paper are covered in lies. They poison your minds. And so long as they exist, you cannot hope to see the world as it truly is.”

 

“How can you accuse these scrolls of being weapons?” the scholar asked, clearly trying to be reasonable, but still unable to hide his frustration. “They’re tools of learning.”

 

“You turn to them for answers and salvation,” Jubair took another step forward, forcing the scholar to give more ground. “You rely more on them than on yourselves; that makes you weak and stupid. You trust in words; drops of ink. Do you ever stop to think of who put them there? Or _why_? No. You simply accept their words without question. And, what if their words speak falsely, as they so often do? This is dangerous.”

 

“You are wrong,” the protesting scholar said, sounding as though he was helplessly confused by what Jubair was saying. “These texts give the gift of knowledge. We _need_ them.”

 

Jubair’s face darkened, seeming rather morbidly amused. “You love your precious writings? You’d do _anything_ for them?”

 

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

 

Jubair smiled cruelly. “Then join them.”

 

Planting both hands on the protesting scholar’s chest, Jubair shoved him backwards into the hungry fires. For the few moments, when the scholar was in mid-topple, he flapped his arms as though he thought that he might have been able to fly free of the greedy fires. Then he was claimed by the full momentum of the shove, falling into the bonfire that quickly began to eat into his flesh. The man kicked and screamed, his tunic swiftly catching fire.

 

For a few moments, it looked as though the scholar was attempting to beat out the flames that had caught on the sleeves of his tunic, but after a few moments more his screams stopped, and the thick, rising smoke became tainted by the scent of burning human flesh. Covering his nose, Altaïr observed that the scholars in the courtyard were doing the same.

 

“Any man who speaks as that man just did is just as much of a threat, and will be dealt with accordingly,” Jubair addressed them. There was no reply from the surrounding scholars, simply fearful eyes and hands held over noses. “Good. Your orders are simple enough: return to the city. Collect any remaining writings and add them to the piles in the streets. When you’re done, we’ll send a cart to collect them that they may be destroyed.”

 

The scholars left, and finally Altaïr found that he had been given his chance. Jubair was casting nervous glances around the courtyard where he stood, always careful to keep his eyes from the fire itself; Altaïr was all too familiar with the damage that such an action would cause to someone’s sight. It was almost as bad as staring into the sun.

 

However, the only sounds the corrupt scholar – the _Templar­_ ­– was aware of were the sounds of the crackling fire, and that of his own breathing. Altaïr smiled softly; Jubair was aware that the Assassins were hunting him, and he’d thought himself more clever than his hunters, sending decoys into the streets. Decoys accompanied by his most trusted bodyguards, so that the deception could be complete.

 

The Templar thought himself safe inside the madrasah; locked behind the walls in this courtyard, burning any piece of writing that he could lay his hands to; this was his last day.

 

Deploying his Hidden Blade with a soft snap, Altaïr leaped down from his perch, blade extended as he pounced. Too late, Jubair became aware of the fact that he was _not_ truly any safer behind these walls than he would have been in the city itself. Too late, he tried to dart out of the way, but by then Altaïr had already buried his blade in the man’s neck.

 

With a soft sigh, Jubair crumpled to the marble floor.

 

“Why… why have you done this?” the Templar asked, eyelids beginning to flutter even as blood seeped from his mouth.

 

“Men must be free to do as they believe,” he said, after looking to the charred corpse of the scholar that Jubair had murdered; with the flesh of the face burned away, the skull appeared to be wearing a macabre grin. “It is not our right to punish one for thinking as he does, much as we might disagree.”

 

“Then what?” Jubair wheezed, as Altaïr withdrew the blade from his neck.

 

“You, of all people, should know the answer to that: educate them. _Teach_ them right from wrong. It must be knowledge that frees them, not force.”

 

Jubair chuckled, blood running down the side of his chin and onto his neck as he did so. “They do not learn, fixed in their ways as they are. You are naïve to think otherwise. It is an illness, Assassin, for which there is only one cure.”

 

“You’re wrong, and that is why you must be put to rest,” he said simply, knowing that there would be no reasoning with this man; he wondered if any of the Templars would be amenable to reason, or if he truly would be forced to eliminate them all.

 

“Am I not unlike those precious books you seek to save? A source of knowledge with which you disagree? Yet you are rather quick to steal my life.”

 

“A small sacrifice to save many,” he told the dying Templar in his arms. “It was necessary.”

 

“Is it not ancient scrolls that inspire the Crusades? That fill Salah Al’din and his men with a sense of righteous  fury? Their texts endanger others; bring death in their wake. I, too, was making a small sacrifice,” Jubair smiled softly, almost peacefully. “It matters little, now. Your deed is done; and so am I.”

 

Jubair died without another word, and Altaïr swiftly departed from the madrasah when he began to hear the sound of people swiftly approaching. Regaining the rooftops once more, he took the swiftest path that he could back to the Bureau, and the Rafiq that awaited him there. When he found himself standing atop the desired roof once more, Altaïr climbed back inside and breathed deeply again.

 

Here, at last, was the end of this latest mission of his.

 

“Altaïr, tell me you’ve met with success,” the Rafiq said, even over the sound of Damascus’ alarms ringing through the air.

 

“Yes.” He displayed the feather he’d stained with the Templar’s blood. “Jubair’s fires are extinguished. His life, as well.”

 

“Excellent news! I had no doubt you would succeed!” the Rafiq said with enthusiasm.

 

“You should have seen it,” he said, not particularly pleased that _he_ had been forced to see what he had; still, such was the way of Templars. “The scholars followed him so readily. It wasn’t just _books_ they fed to fire, either, but any man who opposed them.”

 

“Such ignorance breeds only evil,” the Rafiq said, sounding as though he pitied the deceived scholars in the same way that Altaïr himself had come to. “You’ve done a good thing this day.”

 

“As with my other targets, he believed he was doing the right thing,” Altaïr said, beginning to wonder just what it was that Master Mualim would say to him when he returned to Masyaf once more; he also wondered how Alnesr faired, but both thoughts were for the future, and so could wait. “Clearing a path to a better future.”

 

“Of course he would,” the Rafiq said, nodding. “Such is the landscape of a madman’s mind.”

 

“The things I’ve seen these past few weeks, it’s as if all the land has gone mad,” he confessed, narrowing his eyes as he recalled just what it was that he spoke of.

 

“And this is why we fight,” the Rafiq said with conviction. “To end the war; that sanity might return. The people are desperate for direction, it’s easy for men like Jubair to prey on this and turn them towards evil. You should go, Altaïr,” he suggested. “Return to Al Mualim; tell him what you saw. Let him know the good you’ve done this day.”

 

“Safety and peace, Rafiq,” he said, nodding to the man, even as he turned to leave for the sleeping area once more.

 

“Upon you, as well.”

 

Making his way back to the pile of bedding, Altaïr settled himself to take some rest while the furor of his actions had a chance to die down once more. When he awakened, it was to a far more peaceful city, and so Altaïr swiftly departed the Bureau once more. Making his way out of Damascus for the second time, over the heads of those who had been stationed before the gates, Altaïr made for the stables to retrieve his horse so that he could begin his return journey to Masyaf.

 

The beast had been provisioned once more, a thing that he was grateful for as he mounted it and set off once more.


	62. An old friend

The journey back to Masyaf seemed shorter, but Altaïr knew that such was merely a product of his relief at having completed the task that Master Mualim had set before him at last. When he had finally managed to complete the journey to the Brotherhood’s stronghold, Altaïr gratefully dismounted and made for the fortress itself. Asking one of the guards where Master Mualim might be found, though Altaïr suspected that he knew, he swiftly found that his suspicion was indeed correct.

 

Master Mualim was again to be found in his study.

 

Making for the desk that the Master was once more standing behind, Altaïr returned the nod that he was given in acknowledgement.

 

“Come in, my student; we have much to discus. We are close, Altaïr,” the Master said, sounding pleased by the prospect. “Robert de Sable is now all that stands between us and victory: his mouth gives the orders, his hand pays the gold. With him dies the knowledge of the Templar treasure and any danger it might pose.”

 

“I still don’t understand how a simple treasure could cause so much chaos,” he admitted. The Piece of Eden he had been shown still seemed to him to be nothing more than a shiny bauble; certainly nothing that could cause such madness as he had borne witness to.

 

“The Piece of Eden is temptation given form,” Master Mualim said, nodding slowly as though he could read Altaïr’s own thoughts. “Simply look at what it has done to Robert: once he tasted of its power, the thing consumed him. He saw not a dangerous weapon to be destroyed, but a tool. One that would help him realize his life’s ambition.”

 

“He dreamed of power, then?”

 

“Yes and no,” the Master said gravely. “He dreamed, and still dreams, of peace. Even as we do.”

 

“But this is a man who sought to see the Holy Land consumed by war,” he stated, though he was beginning to become uncertain about such a conclusion.

 

“No, Altaïr,” the Master said, with a firm shake of his head. “How can you not see, when you were the one who opened _my_ eyes to this?”

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled.

 

“What do he and his followers want?” the Master asked, and then answered his swiftly enough that Altaïr was not given the chance to speak a word. “A world in which all men are united. I do not despise his goal, I share it. But I take issue with his _means_. Peace is something to be learned; to be understood; to be embraced. But,” there was a look in the Master’s eyes that Altaïr took for a prompt, and so he took up where Master Mualim had left off.

 

“He would force it.”

 

“And rob us of our free will in the process,” Master Mualim concluded, nodding as though he were pleased.

 

“It seems strange, to think of him in this way,” Altaïr said, narrowing his eyes in thought.

 

“Never harbor hate for your targets, Altaïr,” Master Mualim said. “Such thoughts are poison, and will cloud your judgment.”

 

“Could he not be convinced, then?” Altaïr asked, curious to know if the end of his task could be made to come sooner. “To end his mad quest?”

 

“I spoke to him, in my way,” Master Mualim said, shaking his head sadly. “Through you. What was each killing, if not a message? But he has chosen to ignore our entreaties.”

 

“Then there is only one thing left to do,” he said; he was pleased, in a way, that he was to be sent after de Sable once more.

 

He, certainly, would not make the mistake of underestimating the man; not ever again.

 

“Jerusalem is where you faced him first. It is where you will find him now,” the Master said, releasing his messenger bird. “Let this final offering lend you strength. Go, Altaïr. It is time to finish this.”

 

“As you say, Master.”

 

“Safety and peace be upon you, child.”

 

“And you, as well,” he said, smiling in response to the Master’s gentle tone.

 

Making his way back out of the fortress once again, Altaïr caught Abbas’ eyes upon him as he came down into the courtyard. For a few moments, Altaïr thought to say something to the man who had once been his brother in all but blood; still, he could not think of a single word under the cold gaze of Abbas’ eyes, and so he continued on. He’d not the time to think of anything to say, in any case; there was one last task before him now.

 

Best he completed it swiftly.

 

Making his way down to the stables once more, Altaïr mounted another horse that had been saddled and provisioned for a long journey. Setting off quickly, he found that his thoughts were wandering back to the last day that he and Abbas had been able to call each other brother. It had been the morning after he’d told Abbas what had become of his father, foolishly thinking that the man – merely a boy, then, as he himself had been – could face the truth of what had happened.

 

That that truth might provide for him more comfort than empty words.

 

Abbas had been sullen and silent the entire morning; through breakfast, where Altaïr himself had taken his meal, and then mashed the food that Alnesr was to eat before he fed him; through the lessons that Master Mualim had taught them on that day, and even when Altaïr had taken Alnesr back from his governess, carrying the child out to the training grounds where Labib would then be given temporary charge of him.

 

Abbas had spoken then, but his words had been far from kindly.

 

His attack had been fierce, and made all the worse for the fact that it had been made with live steel. Altaïr could remember Alnesr’s frightened cries as Abbas had attacked him in misguided fury, but he’d not thought much of it until the still-toddling child had come into the training ring calling for the pair of them; it was clear that he hadn’t known what to make of what was going on. Why something so harmless and normal to them as sparring would become so fraught with unexpected danger.

 

But, the interruption had been enough to break Abbas’ momentum, and Altaïr rather thought that such was the only reason that he had been able to escape the altercation without more serious injuries than what he had taken. Still even Alnesr, innocent as he had been at that time, had not managed to escape Abbas’ rage unscathed. Abbas had knocked Alnesr unconscious with a blow from the pommel of his sword; even to this day, Altaïr would wonder if their lives might have taken a different path if Alnesr had not intervened.

 

Altaïr could have coped with an injury to his body or his pride, but finding Abbas with his hands around Alnesr’s throat – once the pair of them had been released from the dungeons of Masyaf – had not been something that he had been prepared to forgive at that time. It was also not a thing that the Master had been prepared to tolerate; he had ordered Abbas punished with twenty lashes upon his naked back, and then decreed that he was to apologize to Alnesr for his transgression in person.

 

Abbas had spat at Alnesr’s feet in response, earning himself a backhand blow from Master Mualim, who had been there so as to observe the proceedings. Altaïr was not certain if, even now, he was prepared to forgive Abbas for not only attempting to kill an innocent, but for attempting to end a life that had not yet truly begun. Such a thing would always be between them, Altaïr knew.

 

Breathing deeply to center himself within the here and now, Altaïr climbed down from his horse and tied the beast to a hitching-post near a deep well. Allowing the beast to drink some water from his right hand, and then watered himself, after that. Taking out the bedroll and setting it close enough that he could quickly re-mount and be off on his way when the time came, without taking the risk of being injured by accident.

 

Once he had taken such rest as he needed to continue his journey, Altaïr re-mounted his horse and began making for the gates of Jerusalem once more. The milling crowds of pilgrims were no different than those he had seen on the road when he had made his earlier journeys to Jerusalem, and as he passed them by, Altaïr felt a definite sense of satisfaction. Here, at last, was an end to the task that had been set before him.

 

Here, now, would be his chance to finally rest from his labors.

 

Making his way further down the path, mindful of the pilgrims making their way into the city alongside him, Altaïr began to see the city itself rising in the distance. Pleased to be making the last in his long line of journeys into the cities within the Holy Land, Altaïr guided his horse the remaining distance to the walls of Jerusalem, then dismounted to lead the beast to the stables once more. Once he had given his horse into the keeping of the stable hands, Altaïr made his way back into the milling crowds.

 

It only remained for him to make his way back into the city, and he would be yet another step closer to his current goal.

 

The guards before the gates seemed as diligent in their tasks as any of those he’d seen before, which again meant that he would need to find a way in under their eyes. _Or, perhaps over their heads,_ he mused, climbing a wooden structure whose purpose he did not care to fathom, and then swinging himself in with the aid of the long wooden poles that stretched between the wide structure of the walls themselves. Once he had passed beyond the sight of the guards at the gate, Altaïr descended to the ground once more.

 

The city was as full of purposeful citizens, each of them intent upon their own business, as all of the other times he had made such a journey, and Altaïr paused a moment to observe them. For this, in the end, was what he and his fought to preserve: the freedom of people such as this to live the lives that they chose to. Freedom that the Templars meant to steal away from them at every turn.

 

Sometimes, Altaïr wondered… but such thoughts as those were best left for another time.

 

Making his way toward Jerusalem’s Bureau once more, there to meet with Malik again, Altaïr waited for a few moments for the citizens tramping the streets to make their way out of his field of view, before ascending to the rooftops once more. For such was the only place that one could enter the Bureau from in any case. Around him Altaïr heard the cries of merchants selling their wares, beggars pleading for what money they could scrounge, and men denouncing King Richard for the war that had been brought to the Holy Land.

 

Just as he had heard men in Acre denouncing Salah Al’din and the war that _he_ had brought to the Holy Land.

 

It was just one more facet to being an Assassin: one came to hear from both sides of many struggles. Reflecting on that as he continued to move over the rooftops on his way to Jerusalem’s Bureau brought a slight smile to his face, for what was such conflict but another facet of such self-determination as the Assassins fought for? But, such things as that always had a price.

 

And it was not their way to allow tyrants to go unpunished.

 

Making his last leap over to the Bureau’s rooftop, Altaïr descended into the building itself, then made his way into the room where Malik would be waiting for him.

 

“Safety and peace, Altaïr,” Malik greeted him, and the Dai seemed to mean it in this instance.

 

“Upon you, as well, brother,” he said, trying not to allow the surprise he felt at honestly being greeted in such a way by a man he had wronged so badly as Malik show on his face.

 

“Seems fate has a funny way with things,” the Dai commented.

 

“So it’s true, then?” he asked. “Robert de Sable is in Jerusalem?”

 

“I’ve seen him and the Knights, myself,” Malik said with conviction.

 

“Only misfortune follows that man,” he said, frowning slightly. “If he’s here, it’s because he intends ill. I won’t give him the chance to act.”

 

“Do not let vengeance cloud your thoughts, brother,” the Dai advised, and Altaïr winced inwardly with the knowledge of what his determination had sounded like to Malik. “We both know no good can come of that.”

 

“I have not forgotten,” he said, forcing his gaze not to drift to the remnants of Malik’s arm, though the scar above Alnesr’s right eye flashed through his mind. “You have nothing to fear. I do not seek revenge, but knowledge.”

 

“Truly, you are not the man I once knew,” Malik said, sounding pleased, though a bit surprised besides.

 

“My work has taught me many things, revealed secrets to me. But there are still pieces of this puzzle I do not possess,” he allowed himself to admit.

 

“What do you need?”

 

“All the men I’ve laid to rest have worked together; united by this man,” he said, giving in to the urge to pace; feeling restless as he’d not been on any of his other excursions. For here, now, was the end of his journey to redeem his mistakes. “Robert de Sable has designs upon the land, that much I know for certain. But, how and why, when and where, these things remain out of reach.”

 

“Crusaders and Saracens working together?” Malik echoed, the confusion plain on his face.

 

“They are none of these things, but something else entirely: Templars,” he said, even as the Master had said it to him.

 

“The Templars are a part of the Crusader army,” Malik said, though he seemed more curious than ever.

 

“Or so they would have King Richard believe,” he countered, though gently so that he would not sound as though he were snapping at Malik. “No. Their only allegiance is to Robert de Sable, and some mad idea that _they_ will stop the war.”

 

“You spin a strange tale.”

 

“You have no idea, Malik,” he said, seeing the mad humor in the situation he had just described and resisting the urge to smile; now was hardly the time for it.

 

“Tell me, then,” the Dai prompted, the expression on his face saying almost more clearly than words that he would accept nothing less.

 

“All right then, if you truly wish to know.”

 

And so, Altaïr told the Dai all that he had seen and heard on his travels, and also the things that he had discussed with the Master when he had been called back to Masyaf to make his reports.

 

“But enough of this,” he said, not wishing to insult Malik’s hospitality, but also knowing that the sooner he began his investigations the better it would be. “Tell me where they’ve been seen; I should be after him before he slips away.”

 

“Three places I can say for certain,” Malik said, drawing himself up straighter. “West of here, and to the southwest at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. See what you can learn; I will do the same.”

 

“I’ll be quick as I can,” he vowed.

 

“Stay safe, my friend,” Malik said, the sincerity in his tone warming Altaïr’s heart; he’d never looked for forgiveness from Malik, never truly felt worthy of such, that to find it now was a truly pleasant surprise.

 

“I will do all I can,” he promised, turning to make his way out of the room.

 

Making his way back into the entrance area of the Bureau, Altaïr scaled the walls once again and then made his way across the rooftops so that he could find a safe place to descend into the crowds of Jerusalem once more. Locating such, he leapt lightly from the roof into a cart of straw, then made his way back in among the crowds after cleaning himself up enough to be presentable. Malik had said that he would be best served heading to the west and southwest, so that was the direction he was going.


	63. An old enemy

As he made his way through the crowds of citizens, some milling and others more purposeful in their movements, Altaïr listened again for those who would speak of what he needed to hear so that he could find Robert and finally come to grips with him for the final time.

 

When he began to hear the sounds of two men speaking to one another, Altaïr paused for a moment as though he was admiring a particular view of the city, and listened.

 

“Bring that to your master, then,” the first man said; Altaïr turned slightly, observing that the man speaking was dressed in dark fabrics, while the man he was speaking to wore the garb of a scholar. “It contains everything you asked for.”

 

“Your assistance in this most delicate of matters is greatly appreciated,” the scholar said; he’d the hoarse voice of an old man who spoke often, Altaïr noted.

 

“It is my job to keep the peace,” the first man said, and Altaïr suspected by his tone that he was one of the city guards.

 

“And keep it you will,” the old scholar said. “You’ll have no trouble from us.”

 

“It’s not you and yours that concern me, but the citizens,” the guard said plainly. “You picked a strange time to visit our city.”

 

“We’ve simply come to pay our respects,” the old scholar said; Altaïr was now almost certain the man had affiliations of one sort or another with Robert de Sable and his Templars.

 

“And stir up trouble for it,” the old guardsman said.

 

“It’s not my fault your people can’t tell enemy from friend,” the old scholar said, not sounding impressed in the slightest by the words of the guardsman.

 

“Look, you’ve got what you came for,” the guardsman said, sounding more harried now. “I think it’s best that you were on your way.”

 

The guardsman left without a backward glance, and so Altaïr turned around and began to shadow the scholar as he began making his own way into Jerusalem’s crowds. Passing by swiftly and silently, Altaïr retrieved the map that the man had been given by the old guardsman, and then vanished into the milling crowds once more. As he tucked the map discreetly away inside his robes, Altaïr began to hear the sound of another conversation.

 

Or rather, a man speaking to whatever citizen would stop for even a moment to listen to him.

 

“People of Jerusalem, we stand upon a threshold: to cross it, is to usher in an age of peace between _all_ men. Embrace these Christian soldiers as you would a brother; welcome them with open arms. In this way, we might forgive the sins of the past, and bring about a better tomorrow.” They were pretty words, but like the Treasure that Master Mualim had shown him, such things were merely illusions; the words of a Templar could seldom be trusted. “We must be strong; we must be brave, and we must find the courage to face those we once called our enemies, and now instead call them friends. The crusaders come to Jerusalem, bringing with them an opportunity to end the fighting; to stop the war, that we may stand as one. We must not turn them away.”

 

Following the speaker as he left the stoop he had been presiding over the crowd from, Altaïr reflected for a moment on his brief wish that they and the Templars could have come to some sort of an accord. Still, such was not the world he lived in, and the Templars as they were now could ill be trusted with the power they sought. He needed to find out where Robert was to be, if he was to finally put an end to the Templar Grand Master and his plans for the Holy Land.

 

Pummeling the Templar hireling into submission, Altaïr gathered himself as the man held up his hands in a warding gesture at last.

 

“You speak of peace, but your words are hollow,” he stated, wondering how the man would react; if he were truly a mere hireling, or instead a fanatic as Altaïr had met so many times before.

 

“No! I speak the truth! Why would you say otherwise?”

 

“You’re a Templar,” he stated calmly.

 

“So I am,” the man said, his own demeanor becoming rather more calm, though he still sounded curious.

 

“Then, you are also a liar and a fraud, just like your master,” he said, watching the distain flicker over the man’s face. “Tell me, where is he? What does he intend?”

 

“It’s peace he seeks,” the man said, with the mien of one who was secure in his convictions; Altaïr knew he would not mourn the death of this one overlong. “I swear it. And the proof is in his actions: a Christian at a Muslim’s funeral. We want an end to all of this.”

 

“Only because it serves your needs,” he stated calmly, knowing he was right.

 

“But this is a noble thing we want,” the Templar said, as though he was attempting to convince Altaïr to believe it; he’d have more luck wringing water from stone. “The land will be united beneath our banner.”

 

“United through force,” he clarified, just in case this one truly believed the nonsense he was spouting. “You’d enslave us all.”

 

“It _is_ for the best.”

 

“No, it is not,” he countered; here was yet another man that the world as a whole would not miss. “And so long as my brothers and I breathe, you will not succeed.”

 

Ending the Templar’s life with his Hidden Blade, Altaïr left him to rot in the alleyway, and ascended once more to the rooftops. He’d been told that he would be best served by searching to the west and southwest, and since he had already been moving to the west, Altaïr turned his path more toward the south than he’d been doing before, and dashed swiftly over the rooftops until he came to a clear patch of ground. With the citizens unable to see what he would soon be doing, Altaïr descended back to the ground.

 

Making his way through the milling crowds of citizens, Altaïr paused once more to listen for any words that would guide him toward the next point in his investigation. It was not an easy thing, listening for furtive words over and above what at times seemed to be the idle chatter of an entire city, and as he was taking special care to avoid the sight of the Informants that had been stationed around Jerusalem, Altaïr could not be entirely certain where his next investigation would take place.

 

When he heard the sounds of three men having a discussion in a shadowed alcove, however, Altaïr settled down on a nearby bench so that he would be able to hear just what it was that those men were saying.

 

“Did you see them?” asked the first, a man with a bald pate in a dull, brown robe.

 

“No, but I heard their whispers,” said a man with scraggly black hair and a rough beard, this one wearing robes like the first one, but in a darkened green. “Is it true? Crusader Knights in Jerusalem?”

 

“It is,” said the first. “Different from the others: finely dressed, and bearing expensive gifts.”

 

“We should relive them of this burden,” stated a third; these men were thieves, then.

 

“They gather near David’s citadel, close to the cemetery,” said the first man.

 

“To attend a funeral?” asked the second.

 

“So it seems,” said the first.

 

“Then, let us visit their camp while they pay their respects,” the third man suggested.

 

The trio of thieves disbursed back into the milling crowds, and Altaïr too left the bench where he had been sitting, wiser now as to what the Templars planned. It seemed Robert de Sable was more sentimental than he had taken the man to be, or else more of a fool, if he would honestly come to mourn a monster such as Majd Addin.

 

Still, a Templar was a Templar, and this was an advantageous thing as far as he was concerned; the reasoning of his enemies aside, having the chance to come to grips with de Sable at last was a pleasing thing to him.

 

Deciding that he had enough information now to return to Malik once more, Altaïr ascended to the rooftops once more and began making his way back toward the Bureau. The rooftops passed smoothly beneath him as he continued on his way, more swiftly now that he was out of sight of the citizens who might come to wonder at his passing, Altaïr soon found himself atop the Bureau once more. Climbing back down into the shadowed interior, Altaïr made his way back into the main room with a sense of ease and confidence.

 

“You’ve the scent of success about you, brother,” Malik said, a small smile lingering on his face.

 

Altaïr smiled slightly, himself. “I’ve learned much about our enemy,” he said.

 

“Share your knowledge, then,” the Dai prompted. “Let us see what can be done with it.”

 

“Robert and his Templars walk the city; they are here to pay their respects to Majd Addin,” he said, the contempt he still felt for that contemptible man coloring his words. “They’ll attend his funeral, which means so will I.”

 

“Why is this, the Templars would attend his funeral?” Malik asked.

 

“I have yet to divine their true intentions, though I’ll have a confession in time,” he said, trying not to sound arrogant in his confidence. “The citizens themselves are divided. Many call for their lives; still, others insist that they are here to parley. To make peace.”

 

“ _Peace_?” Malik echoed, in the same disbelieving tone he himself had turned on that Templar speaker.

 

“As I said: the others slain have said as much to me,” he stated, folding his arms and resisting the urge to pace.

 

“That would make them our allies,” the Dai said, not sounding like he believed a word of it, himself. “And yet, we kill them.”

 

“Make no mistake, we are nothing like these men,” he said firmly. “Though their goal sounds noble, the means by which they would achieve them are not.” He paused a moment; yes, the Master had taught him and Alnesr both the ways of the Brotherhood, but the longer he had been without satisfactory answers, the easier Altaïr had found it to doubt. “At least, that is what the Master told me.”

 

“So, what is your plan?” the Dai asked.

 

“I’ll attend the funeral and confront Robert,” he said, his conviction firm and his purpose set.

 

“The sooner, the better,” Malik said, the conviction in his eyes a clear match for Altaïr’s own.

 

Moving forward to take the feather that Malik had so obligingly set out for him, Altaïr turned and made his way back to the entrance-room of the Bureau. “Malik, ” he began, pausing in his last steps before the door. “ Before I go, there’s something I should say.”

 

“Be out with it,” the Dai said, though his tone was gentle.

 

“I’ve been a fool.” He made his way back over to the counter, bowing his head in repentance; the both of them needed to hear this, though Malik most of all.

 

“Normally I’d make no argument, but what is this? What are you talking about?”

 

Raising his head at the curious tone of Malik’s voice, wondering why the Dai didn’t sound angry with what he had done anymore, Altaïr continued. “All this time, I never told you I was sorry; too damn proud. You lost your arm because of me. Lost Kadar. You had every right to be angry.”

 

“I do not accept your apology.”

 

He lowered his eyes. “I understand.”

 

“ _No_ , you don’t,” the Dai said, almost sounding like he would have chuckled had their conversation warranted it. “I do not accept your apology, because _you are not the same man who went with me into Solomon’s Temple_. And so, _you_ have nothing to apologize for.”

 

“Malik…” for the first time in a very long while, Altaïr found himself at a loss for words.

 

“Perhaps if I had not been so envious of you, I would not have been so careless, myself,” Malik said, and Altaïr looked up to see a small, wry smile upon the Dai’s face. “I’m just as much to blame.”

 

He shook his head. “Don’t say such things.”

 

“We are one,” Malik said, determination infusing the Dai’s tone once more. “As we share the glory of our victories, so too should we share the pain of our defeat. In this way we grow closer; we grow _stronger_.”

 

There was only a single thing that he could say in the face of such words. “Thank you, brother.”

 

“Take some rest; that you might be ready for what lies ahead.”

 

Nodding, he made his way into the secondary room. There to take what sleep he could, and then make his way back out into Jerusalem so that he could attend the funeral of Majd Addin. So that he could come to grips with Robert de Sable at last.

 

Once he felt rested enough to begin his work in earnest, Altaïr rose from the nest of blankets and cushions and made his way back up to the Bureau’s rooftop once more. Standing for a long moment in the open air, Altaïr began once more to swiftly make his way over the rooftops between himself and his newest target. Or rather, the target he had been craving to have done with for a very long time.

 

Taking note of the positions of the guards around the cemetery as he made his way inside, Altaïr reflected that this was the first time he had ever been present for the funeral of one of his targets. He wondered briefly if he would be able to maintain his composure when confronted with the bereavement and pain that he had caused to those uninvolved with the struggles between the Assassins and Robert de Sable’s Templars. However, if any of Addin’s family _had_ been present, they were either keeping their grief silent, or else they did not particularly care for the man.

 

Altaïr wondered briefly if anyone _did_ truly mourn the passing of Majd Addin; he thought it a sad thing, to pass from the world and leave no one to care that you had lived in the first place.


	64. The funeral

Still, he had not come here to ponder such ultimately meaningless things, and so Altaïr turned his thoughts back to his work. He was here, now, at the end of this long mission at last. He would be able to deal with Robert de Sable at last, to avenge himself and his fallen brothers, and to finally put to rest his remaining doubts.

 

Looking over the gathered crowds, he found that there were a trio of Templar knights standing near to the imam by the graveside. All three of them wore full, face-concealing helms, but the man who stood at the forefront of the trio wore the distinctive cape of a Grand Master Templar. And yet… de Sable did not seem nearly as formidable a foe as the man who had bested him under Solomon’s Temple.

 

The thought troubled him, but Altaïr knew that he could not allow such things to distract him from his task; particularly not at such a late stage.

 

The lack of guards and men-at-arms, in short any of Robert’s comrades or underlings, _was_ a thing that he could concern himself with. It was not what he expected of the Grand Master of the Templars: this carelessness. It was not a thing that he could ignore, either; he would have to be far more diligent than he had been walking among the others.

 

This laxity that de Sable was demonstrating could not be anything else but a trap.

 

The imam began speaking, addressing the few mourners gathered in this place. Altaïr paid the service little mind, save to briefly scoff when the man referred to Addin as beloved by the populace of the city. Truly, Majd Addin had been almost as _beloved_ as leprosy. Breathing deeply, continuing to study the trio of Templar knights gathered by the graveside of one of their own, Altaïr could not help but to see an increasing number of discrepancies between the man he had faced under Solomon’s Temple, and the man – or was it a man? – who stood before him now.

 

The figure of the man in the garb of the Grand Master Templar was indeed far too slender to be de Sable, and even the cape looked too long, even if only slightly. Altaïr made a decision, then, in light of all he knew and was beginning to suspect. There was nothing right about this situation, so he would forgo the task for now; he would return to Malik, and the two of them would decide together what was to be done from this point.

 

His attention was caught, however, by the imam’s sudden change in tone: “As you know, this man was murdered by the Assassins. We have tried to track his killer, but it has proved difficult,” the man’s tone was rough and aggressive now; Altaïr tensed, knowing that things were going to become more difficult the longer he stayed. “These creatures cling to the shadows, and run from any who would face them fairly. But not today. For it seems that one stands among us. He mocks us with his presence, and must be made to pay!”

 

Almost immediately after the pronouncement from the imam, Altaïr saw the crowd beginning to form a circle with him at the center, in response to the imam pointing him out to them. They looked fierce, but as they had no weapons and likely little training, Altaïr spared them little attention. He was far more focused on the three Templars – two of de Sable’s men, and the one who purported to be de Sable himself – advancing on him.

 

“Seize him! Bring him forward, that God’s justice might be done!”

 

In a single, smooth motion, Altaïr unsheathed his sword and released his Hidden Blade. The crowd swirling around him panicked, not a one of them at all eager to test themselves against his blades. Not a one but the Templars, who began to move forward through the surging remains of the crowd in order to advance upon him. One of them, however, did not seem to realize that Altaïr was advancing upon their position, and hence Altaïr was able to cut him down with one swift, sure stroke.

 

A door in the wall nearest to where he was standing opened then, spilling more Templar knights into the graveyard; five of them, Altaïr counted, before he was forced to evade the hailstorm of arrows that the archers atop the walls were raining down upon him. One of the Knights before him fell, a fletched shaft protruding from the left side of his neck, and Altaïr smiled thinly. It seemed that this position favored him.

 

Still, he was not likely to be so fortunate a second time.

 

The second of the purported de Sable’s bodyguards came forward then; Altaïr sliced at the man’s neck with his sword, opening a gaping wound and sending the Templar to the ground amid a spray of blood. Turning his attention to the one who purported to be de Sable, growing more and more certain that this one could not possibly be such, Altaïr was only just quick enough to deflect the blow from the purported de Sable’s broadsword.

 

Even then, the sheer force of the blow sent him stumbling back.

 

Reinforcements soon arrived, and Altaïr quickly found himself pushed back under the sheer weight of armed knights – all of them in full, face-concealing helms – pressing in on him. Soon, he found himself standing atop Addin’s very grave, but he was not given even a moment to enjoy the fact of that. Another hail of arrows were loosed at his position, and Altaïr was both pleased and amused to note that yet another of the knights fell screaming to the ground with an arrow in his neck.

 

When the purported de Sable started shouting at the archers to stop firing into what was swiftly becoming a melee, Altaïr was struck by surprise at what he heard. For he did _not_ hear the unmistakable French tone of Robert de Sable, or even a man’s voice at all. No, it was the voice of an English woman. He wondered for a moment just who she could have been; whether she was one of de Sable’s lieutenants, having disguised herself as a man in order to fight at the side of Robert’s Templars for a cause she may or may not have believed in, or else if she was a lover of his.

 

Either way, her skill with a blade could not be denied by any man who claimed working eyes; even Altaïr found himself rather awed by it. However, the last of her comrades could not make claim to the same skill, nor the nerve that clearly drove the mysterious woman who had chosen to stand in de Sable’s place, and so Altaïr was able to dispatch him easily. That only left him facing the woman.

 

Truly, she was the equal of any of the men he had faced in combat. But he had bested those men, and so it was even with her: driving his sword into her shoulder even as he swept her legs from under her with a swift kick. As she crashed heavily into the ground, Altaïr was already dragging the woman into cover with him, shielding them both from the rain of arrows that could begin at her command.

 

The woman still wore her helmet, but for the moment Altaïr was far more concerned with the blood seeping from her shoulder. She would not die of her wound, and would also be fully capable of recovering from such with proper treatment. If he were to allow her to do so, of course.


	65. The false Robert

“I would see your eyes before you die,” he said; it was a strange thing to think about, that he would reveal the face of a woman when he removed her helm, and so Altaïr steeled himself for such.

 

“I sense you expected someone else,” the woman said, with a small, amused smile.

 

She had eyes like the ones he had seem reflected when he would take the time to look into still pools of water: strong, determined, and unyielding. And yet, they also reflected a softness and light that was more familiar to him from his days with Alnesr. He liked what he saw in her eyes, and yet Altaïr could not help but wonder just what the true nature of this woman ultimately was.

 

“What is your role in this?” he could not but ask.

 

“We knew you’d come,” the woman said, sounding proud and determined as he would have in the same situation. “Robert needed to make sure he’d have time to get away.”

 

“So he flees?” that did not seem like the Grand Master Templar that he had encountered, even so briefly as the two of them had clashed; he was also unwilling to trust to mere luck.

 

“We cannot deny your success,” the woman said, the smile on her face fading. “You have laid waste to our plans. First the Treasure, then our men. Control of the Holy Land slipped away… But then, he saw an opportunity. To reclaim what has been stolen: to turn your victories to our advantage.”

 

“Al Mualim still holds your Treasure, and we’ve routed your army before,” he said plainly. “Whatever Robert plans, he’ll fail again.”

 

“Ah, but it’s not just Templars you’ll contend with now,” the woman said, her smile returning.

 

“Speak sense,” he said, wondering just what it was that he had missed.

 

“Robert rides for Arsuf to plead his case: that Saracen and Crusader unite against the Assassins.”

 

“That will never happen,” he said, knowing well the intransigence of both sides. “They have no reason to.”

 

“ _Had_ no reason to, perhaps.” The woman’s smile grew broader, more amused. “But now you’ve given them one. Nine, in fact. The bodies you’ve left behind: victims on both sides. You’ve made the Assassins an enemy in common, and ensured the annihilation of your entire Order.” She grinned, an almost feral baring of teeth. “Well done.”

 

“Not nine.” He loosened his stance, feeling the tension beginning to slowly ebb out of him. “Eight.”

 

The woman’s grin faltered. “What do you mean?”

 

“You were not my target.” He removed the blade from her neck, gathering himself and standing once again. “I will not take your life.” Even as he turned to leave the cemetery, he kept his eyes upon the woman. “You’re free to go, but do not follow me.”

 

“I don’t need to,” she said, rising back to her own feet with her left hand clasped over her wounded shoulder. “You are already too late.”

 

“We shall see.”

 

He left the cemetery, and its corpses old and new, behind him.


	66. Returning to Malik

Ascending back to the rooftops once more, Altaïr swiftly made his way back to the Bureau once more; he needed, more than ever to consult with Malik about what had just happened. He did not know if he would speak of the eyes of the woman that he had encountered, though he would clearly need to speak of her presence. He thought, however, that Malik – no matter what his feelings now were about the fact of Altaïr’s failure in Solomon’s Temple – was likely to look askance of him for such a thing.

 

Even now, Altaïr would have looked askance at _himself_ , were such a thing even possible.

 

As he came within sight of the Bureau’s entrance once more, Altaïr forced himself to breathe more easily. This was not like the other missions that he had undertaken; he was not returning to Malik with the task at hand done, but to inform the Dai of a new complication that had arisen during the course of his attempt. To inform him that Robert de Sable had outwitted him once more.

 

He was certain that Malik would not be pleased to hear such a thing; he was still unsure if the Dai would feel anything _else_ about the information.

 

Making his way back into the Bureau once more, Altaïr breathed deeply and steadily as he stepped back into the main room at last.

 

“It was a trap,” he said, once he had made his way back into Malik’s domain within the Bureau.

 

“I had heard the funeral turned to chaos,” Malik said, turning a concerned expression upon him; Altaïr smiled softly in response. “What happened?”

 

“Robert de Sable was never here; he sent another in his stead,” he said, firmly resisting the urge to pace. “He was expecting me.”

 

“You must go to Al Mualim.”

 

Altaïr knew that such a thing was undeniable, and yet… “There’s no time. She told me where he’s gone; what he plans. If I return to Masyaf now, he might succeed. And then… I fear we’ll be destroyed.”

 

“We have killed most of his men, he cannot hope to mount a proper attack,” Malik said, his mind clearly settling upon more practical matters for a long moment. “Wait, did you say _she_?”

 

“Yes, it was a woman,” he acknowledged. “Strange, I know; but that’s for another time.” He _would_ be thinking of her later, Altaïr knew; he still remembered the fierce gaze of her eyes. “For now we must focus on Robert. We may have thinned his ranks, but the man is clever. He goes to plead his case to Richard and Salah Al’din. To unite them against a common enemy: against _us_.”

 

“Surely you are mistaken,” Malik said, sounding as though he _wanted_ to make himself believe such, but could not quite manage it. “This makes no sense; those men would _never_ -”

 

“Oh, but they would.” Altaïr forced himself not to sigh. “And we have only ourselves to blame. The men I’ve killed – men on both sides, men important to _both_ leaders – Robert’s plan may be ambitious, but it makes sense. And it _could_ work.”

 

“Look, brother: things have changed,” Malik said, clearly attempting to reason with him. “You _must_ return to Masyaf; we cannot act without our Master’s permission. It could compromise the Brotherhood. I thought… I thought that you had learned this.”

 

He sighed. “I know; yet I haven’t the time to delay. That woman spoke as though Robert stands within reach of Arsuf even now, and I cannot allow him the time he needs. To not act swiftly in this matter may very well do worse than to compromise the Brotherhood.” Altaïr wondered for a moment if he should share what else it was that troubled him, and then reflected that if he could not share his concerns with Malik, there were few people indeed that he could do such with. “Also, I begin to suspect that there is something more than simply the Templars and their Treasure involved with these matters. Once my business with Robert is concluded, I will indeed ride for Masyaf so that I may speak with the Master; that I may have answers. But, perhaps _you_ could go?”

 

“I cannot leave the Bureau,” the Dai said, sounding as through he wished to.

 

“Then walk amongst the people,” he suggested. “Seek out those who served the ones I slew; learn what you can. You say that you are perceptive; perhaps you will see what I could not.”

 

“I do not know,” Malik said, turning away slightly, appearing thoughtful once more. “I must consider this.”

 

“Do as you must, my friend,” he said, reaching out to clap the Dai’s right shoulder. “But it’s time I rode for Arsuf. Every moment I delay, our enemy gets one step ahead of me.” He could not help but think that, unwitting or not, he had risked compromising the Brotherhood once more.

 

“Be careful, brother.”

 

“I will,” he nodded, smiling softly. “I promise.”

 

Leaving the comfort of the Bureau for the rooftops of Jerusalem once more, Altaïr forced himself to breathe calmly and deeply. He would be no good to anyone if he allowed himself to panic, even in spite of what he had learned of Robert’s changed plans. Gathering himself after a long moment, Altaïr swiftly made his way back over the rooftops and out to the walls once more.


	67. Into Arsuf

Peering down into the line of guards standing before and below him, Altaïr turned his attention back to the walls that he now crouched in front of. Making his way up to the top of the wall, Altaïr climbed up and over the peak of the wall, and then back down on the other side. Waiting and watching for a moment when he would be able to descend back to the ground without being seen by any of the citizens attempting to make their way into Jerusalem for whatever reasons had brought them to the city.

 

Finding an opening within the crowds, Altaïr descended once again to the ground outside the walls of Jerusalem.

 

Breathing more easily for the fact that he had done so, Altaïr went to reclaim his horse from the stables. Finding that the beast had freshly provisioned once again, he thanked the caretakers and paid them a bit extra for their trouble, and then made his way away from Jerusalem’s stables once more. Pleased as he was to be out on the road once more, free from the confines of the city and all of the troublesome guards that seemed only to be present to hem him in, Altaïr knew that this was not a time for him to relax.

 

Kicking his horse into a canter, Altaïr drove the beast in the direction of the old, abandoned fortress of Arsuf. He needed to find Robert, before the Templar could speak his poison into the ears of either Richard or Salah Al’din; and also to find out just what it was that the man knew about the Treasure that he and his had attempted to lay claim to. He’d never truly felt at ease around that silver sphere, he could recall with clarity now, and such a feeling only made him all the more eager to see whatever mysteries the Treasure the Templars had attempted to lay claim to solved.

 

Knowledge, after all, was the surest way of driving out fear.

 

He took note of the gossip from those he passed by on the road: that Saracen and Crusader armies had encountered each other at the old fortress, and were even then joined in battle. He was at least pleased to note that Robert had not managed to speak his poison to those who might have been all too willing to hear it, and Altaïr breathed more easily as he continued on his way to meet with Robert. So that he could find out what the Templar knew, and so that he could be done with the man at last.

 

As he drew ever closer to the battling armies, moving slowly against the flow of worried, anxious country folk fleeing the advancing ranks, Altaïr steadied himself and his horse as he continued to move forward. Looking back up from the frightened faces of the citizens attempting to escape the carnage that had been unleashed by both Crusader and Saracen upon them, Altaïr began to see plumes of smoke rising up along the horizon. As he continued moving in that direction, he also began to catch sight of the soldiers fighting on either side.

 

He was not yet close enough to determine which men were on which side, yet such was not his concern at this moment in time: he needed to find Robert.

 

Moving in closer, Altaïr found himself coming close enough to see the engines of war that the clashing armies maintained; at least one of them seemed to be on fire, explaining at least some of the plumes of smoke that he had seen while he moved in closer. The sky just before him was darkened with hails of arrows, the archers on either side raining death upon their foes with seeming impunity. As he continued closer to the ranks of warring soldiers, Altaïr began to hear the sounds of battle before him.

 

The stamping, trampling hooves of the mounted soldiers; the screams of the wounded and dying, and the subtly differing screams of those men caught up in the press and crush of combat; the sharp, rattling clatter of steel on steel, and the pitiful whinnies of wounded horses. As he came ever closer to the soldiers battling on either side, Altaïr began to see the leavings of battle. There were dead horses appearing on the ground before him now; all of them riderless, but it was not long before he began to see men fallen in the same attitudes as the horses: Saracen and Crusader alike, spread-eagled on the ground, or else propped against the trees where they had fallen.

 

Altaïr knew that he would have to be all the more watchful, now that he was drawing close enough to see living men battling on either side of this latest conflict. Reining in his horse, Altaïr began to see Saracen archers appearing out of the tree line some distance in front of him. Dropping back to the ground, he rolled out of the dirt road, swiftly taking shelter behind an upturned cart so that he could watch the melee with at least some semblance of safety.

 

There were, perhaps, one hundred of the archers in this particular group; they moved quickly, crouched and bent low to the ground, moving in the same way he himself had done when he had been tasked with infiltrating those cities that held his various targets. Making his own way into the trees, Altaïr followed the archers at a safe distance. He wasn’t able to determine just how long or how far he followed the archers, always being careful to stay out of sight of the Saracens he was tracking, but the distance he had covered seemed rather great.

 

He had clearly come closer to the main battle, as he was now able to feel the vibrations of men and horses trampling over the ground before him, each and every one of them caught up in the battle. Soon, the archers – and with them Altaïr himself – came upon a ridge that stood above the main battle. For a moment, Altaïr found his breath stolen by the sheer size of it, before he gathered himself once again and moved forward.

 

His duty was to the Brotherhood, Altaïr sternly reminded himself after the memories of the Siege of Acre threatened to overwhelm him; his task was to find Robert, to finally determine just what the Grand Master Templar knew, and then to be done with the man at last.

 

All around him were the bodies of the slain; Saracen and Crusader alike, as well as the broken remains or machinery and horses. It was clear that there had been a great battle for the advantageous position that this ridge would have provided to whoever managed to lay claim to it; the bodies of men, alongside their shattered weapons, littered the ground before where he now stood. Even as he watched, yet another group of Crusaders met with the Saracen archers that he had been tracking, bringing a great shout from both sides as they faced once another.

 

The Saracens possessed the element of surprise, and so had the advantage when the two groups met in combat, and their first attack left the bodies of Crusader knights dying on the ground before them. Some of the men even falling from the ridge into the chaos of the melee below the ridge. But, even as Altaïr crouched out of sight of the combatants, the Crusaders regrouped, rallied, and their counter-attack began in earnest.

 

Knowing that the safest way for him make his way to the position that Richard maintained, and from there find out just where it was that Robert de Sable had hidden himself, Altaïr moved forward and to the left. Leaving a wide berth between himself and the continuing battle atop the ridge, he skirted the main conflict and continued pressing onward and forward.

 

As he made his way on, to find King Richard so that he would be able to find Robert, Altaïr caught a glimpse of a Crusader foot soldier crouching in the underbrush. The man was whimpering as he watched the mad chaos taking place before his very eyes, and Altaïr passed by him without a word. He would not kill a man who clearly wished only to live.

 

Suddenly, a shout went up from the undergrowth, and Altaïr found himself facing a pair of Crusaders; both with broadswords raised to impede his progress. Reaching up for his weapons with crossed arms, Altaïr drew his short sword with his right hand and flicked a throwing knife with his left. One of them went down quickly with Altaïr’s own knife in his neck, and he swiftly impaled the other through the heart. The two of them turned out to be scouts; a fact he’d not taken note of when he’d first caught sight of them.

 

Still in a position to overlook the battle from where he stood, Altaïr found that he was no longer standing upon a ridge but on the brow of a hill. Looking back up, Altaïr found that he could just manage to catch his first glimpse of the standard borne by Richard the Lionheart, and beyond that even a slight glimpse of the king himself. The man’s steed, armored and caparisoned for battle, was distinctive enough on its own, but the flaming orange of Richard’s beard and his hair made it all the more clear just who he was now facing.

 

There remained only one barrier before him, now: the rearguard of Crusader knights guarding Richard from whoever might have attempted to attack him; or else anyone who had managed to make it so far for another reason.

 

Leaping into battle with the Knights who stood before him, Altaïr pressed forward, slashing with his long sword and short blade; at times he was able to make a long dash forward, and at other times he was forced to move more slowly and deliberately as he pressed what advantages he could find. Out of the corner of his right eye, Altaïr saw that King Richard had dismounted, and now stood in a clearing among the ranks of his immediate bodyguards.

 

The bodyguards had begun to form a circle around him; creating a smaller target and a wall of men to make such a target dangerous to challenge.

 

Dashing forward as he managed to clear yet another space for himself, Altaïr slowed and flicked the blood from his swords. Watching as the archers scrabbled to stand upon the boulders scattered around him, and the Knights before and around him took up arms, fierce pride in their eyes as they faced him down, Altaïr raised his chin and deliberately sheathed his swords.

 

“Hold a moment,” he said, making his voice calm as he locked eyes with Richard. “It’s words I bring, not steel.”

 

The king seemed to consider him for a long moment, while his archers and knights continued to hold their positions; the points of every sword aimed at his gut, and the sights of every archer fixed upon him. He was walking into the very maw of death; for a moment, Altaïr felt an odd urge to laugh at how common such a thing had become for him. Swallowing such a laugh, since this was not remotely the place for such an outburst, Altaïr gathered himself once again.

 

“Offering terms for a surrender, then?” Richard asked, seeming satisfied. “It’s about time.”

 

“No, you misunderstand,” he said, having managed to fully compose himself again after his odd urge to burst out laughing. “It is Al Mualim who sends me, not Salah Al’din.”

 

The king’s face darkened with clear displeasure. “ _Assassin_? What is the meaning of this? And be quick with it.”

 

“You’ve a traitor in your midst,” he said, as the men gathered around him pressed forward slightly, the archers tensing even as they did so.

 

“And he has hired you to kill me?” Richard asked, his eyes narrowing. “Come to gloat about it before you strike? I won’t be taken so easily.”

 

“It’s not you I’ve come to kill, it’s him,” he said, deliberately moving his hands slightly away from his weapons.

 

“Speak, then, that I may judge the truth,” Richard said, then beckoned Altaïr forward. “Who is this traitor?”

 

“Robert de Sable.”

 

Richard’s eyebrows raised, a clear sign of the king’s surprise. “My lieutenant?”


	68. Robert de Sable

“He aims to betray,” he said evenly, still searching for the words that he would need to persuade this man of what he needed to know.

 

“That’s not the way _he_ tells it,” Richard said; Altaïr did not quite know what to make of the man’s tone, but he would at least hold to hope until and unless it had been proven to be ultimately futile. “He seeks revenge against your people for the havoc you’ve wrought in Acre. And I am inclined to support him; some of my best men were murdered by some of yours.”

 

It became clear that Robert de Sable had the king’s ear; Altaïr breathed deeply, knowing that what he said next could easily end in his death at the hands of Richard’s Crusader knights and bowmen. “It was _I_ who killed them, and for good reason,” he said, deciding to leave the matter of Alnesr aside, since the presence of the younger Assassin could only confuse matters when he needed them to be clear. “Hear me out,” he said, in the face of Richard’s glare. “William of Montferrat sought to use his soldiers to take Acre by force. Garnier de Naplouse used his skills to indoctrinate and control any who resisted. Sibrand intended to block the ports, preventing your kingdom from providing aid. They all betrayed you, and they took their orders from Robert.”

 

“You expect me to believe this outlandish tale?” Richard demanded, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes; Altaïr would have liked to think he would have been more open to the possibilities, but as he’d not been placed in a situation such as this, he truly had no way of saying.

 

“You know these men better than I,” he said, both because such a thing was indeed true, and so that Richard would at least begin considering matters more clearly. “Are you truly surprised to learn of their ill intentions?”

 

Richard paused, and clearly seemed to be considering what he had known – and perhaps _not_ known – about the men who had purported to serve under him. Then he turned to a man standing on his right; a man in a full-face helm. “Is this true?”

 

The knight removed his helm, and Altaïr was at least _somewhat_ pleased to note that he was now truly faced with Robert himself. Narrowing his eyes in distaste for the man who had been willing to send a woman – even one with the skill that he had seen the female Templar display – in his stead, Altaïr steeled his resolve. Here, now, was his chance to find out just what it was that de Sable knew.

 

About the Templar treasure, and possibly other matters of import to the Brotherhood.

 

Robert shifted slightly, his lip curling in clear distaste, even as Altaïr narrowed his eyes at the man. “My liege, it is an Assassin that stands before us,” de Sable said, the tone of his voice conveying clear exasperation. “These creatures are masters of manipulation. Of _course_ it isn’t true.”

 

“I’ve no reason to deceive,” he couldn’t quite stop himself from snapping.

 

“Oh, but you do,” de Sable sneered. “You’re afraid of what will happen to your little fortress. Can it truly withstand the combined might of the Saracen and Crusader armies?”

 

“My concern is for the people of the Holy Land,” Altaïr said, in the face of Robert’s goading grin. “If I must sacrifice myself for there to be peace, then so be it.”

 

Richard’s bemused expression turned from him to de Sable and then back once more. “This is a strange place we find ourselves in. Each of you accusing the other.”

 

“There really is no time for this,” de Sable said quickly. “I must be off to meet with Saladin and enlist his aid. The longer we delay, the harder this will become.”

 

“Hold a moment, Robert,” Richard said, as the Templar made to leave; the king’s gaze went from de Sable to Altaïr himself and then back once more.

 

“ _Why_?” de Sable snapped, snorting in obvious frustration as he stopped in his tracks. “What do you intend? Surely you do not believe _him_?”

 

Altaïr could see in de Sable’s eyes that he, too, knew that the king he purported to serve was beginning to have his doubts about that service. Perhaps he was even coming to believe Altaïr’s own word over that of Robert. Altaïr breathed deeply, and hoped that such was indeed coming to pass.

 

“It is a difficult decision,” the king replied. “One I cannot make alone. I must leave this in the hands of one wiser than I.”

 

“Thank you-”

 

“No, Robert. Not you,” Richard’s tone indicated a rebuke.

 

“Then _who_?” the Templar seemed irritated, so Altaïr steeled himself for what might well come next.

 

“The Lord,” Richard said, smiling; clearly pleased with himself for coming to what he saw as the right conclusion. “Let this be decided by combat. Surely God will side with the one whose cause is righteous.”

 

Altaïr saw the expression of amused pleasure that lingered slightly on de Sable’s face; clearly the Templar was recalling the least time that the two of them had met in combat. Altaïr was doing so as well, but he liked to think that he was not so hampered by arrogance and willful blindness as he had once been. However, he also recalled the sheer physical strength of the Templar before him; the way de Sable had thrown him from the room as easily as hefting a sack of wheat.

 

“If that is what you wish,” de Sable said calmly.

 

“It is.”

 

“So be it,” Robert said, his calm tone belied by the taunting smirk he wore. “To arms, Assassin.”

 

The two of them could hardly have been more disparate in appearance: Robert’s pristine armor, as opposed to Altaïr’s robes, stained with travel and the blood of many men; the cuts and bruises that Altaïr had taken just making his way toward this meeting that he had been wanting for some time; even down to the absence of the weariness that Altaïr could feel pulling down on him even as he and de Sable faced one another across the swiftly-forming ring of Crusader knights. It was clear that de Sable could see all of this, for he still wore a taunting smirk on his face, even as he pulled on chain-mail gauntlets and a fellow knight came forward to assist him with his helmet.

 

“So, we face each other once more. Let us hope that you prove more of a challenge, this time.”

 

“I am not the man you faced inside the Temple,” Altaïr replied, raising his sword as de Sable did the same.

 

The far-off thunder of the battle at Arsuf seemed all the more distant now; the world itself receding to merely the two of them as they faced off and prepared for battle.

 

“You look the same to me,” de Sable said, in that same disparaging tone that he had previously used.

 

Altaïr ignored it; the Templar would learn better soon enough. Raising his sword even as de Sable did the same, Altaïr held himself ready for whatever first strike de Sable would choose to open with. The Grand Master Templar seemed surprised by this, he was pleased to note; he would endeavor to surprise the man all the more during their coming battle.

 

“Appearances can deceive,” he stated calmly.

 

“True, true,” de Sable said, his surprised expression melting into one of wry amusement.

 

The two of them met in combat once more, and Altaïr slowly began to realize that – for all the other advantages the Templar had over him – he was not nearly as fast as Altaïr had trained himself to be. He would need to make this contest one of attrition if he wanted a hope of besting the Knight who had challenged him; if he wanted to find out just what it was that de Sable knew, before he sent the Templar to join the rest of his brothers-in-arms.

 

“Soon, this will be over and Masyaf will fall,” de Sable taunted, having clearly regained his arrogant confidence during the course of the battle; Altaïr would see that he regretted it.

 

“My brothers are stronger than you think.”

 

“We’ll know the truth of that soon enough,” de Sable scoffed, still grinning.

 

Still, as Altaïr continued the dance of battle that he had become so familiar with over the course of his life within the Brotherhood, de Sable was forced to back down under the sheer weight of the attacks that bore down on him. Altaïr was pleased, also, to note the harried attitude that the Templar took on as he was pressed steadily backward.

 

“Oh, so the child has learned how to use a blade?”

 

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” he said, calmly for all that he was becoming steadily more pleased to have de Sable backed into a corner, the way he himself had once been. “Your men saw to that.”

 

“They were sacrificed in service to a higher cause,” de Sable snapped; Altaïr could hear his breath coming more harshly, then.

 

“As will you be.”

 

De Sable pressed forward again, but this time Altaïr was more than ready, slamming the pommel of his sword into the Templar’s gut, sending him stumbling back, barely able to stay on his feet. In fact, the only thing that kept the knight from falling to the ground was the presence of his fellow knights all around him, propping de Sable up before he could fall to the dust. De Sable bristled with an unseemly sort of fury, and Altaïr knew that this fight was his.

 

After all, he’d learned well and long ago that a warrior who lost his temper had long since lost the battle.

 

“The time for games is ended!” de Sable bellowed, as though shouting such words would make them ring all the more true.

 

“It ended long ago,” Altaïr responded calmly, feeling as a pure Assassin for the first time since he had confronted that strange woman at the site of Majd Addin’s funeral.

 

De Sable pressed forward for what Altaïr knew would be the last time; his breathing almost more ragged than his attacks, and Altaïr was easily able to fend the Templar off.

 

“I do not know where your strength comes from,” de Sable gasped, clearly at the end of his strength; Altaïr was glade to note such a fact. “Some trick? Or is it indeed drugs, as has been said before?”

 

“It is as your king said: righteousness will always triumph over greed,” he said, both since such a thing was fully true, and because he knew that it would infuriate de Sable to the last to hear such a thing.

 

“ _My cause is righteous_!” the Templar bellowed like a wounded bull, straining now to lift his sword.

 

It was in that struggle that Altaïr glimpsed his chance: pressing forward for the last time, he drove his sword deep into the center of the bright, red cross that de Sable wore on his surcoat, parting the Knight’s mail and piercing his chest. Eyes wide and shocked in the throes of the death that had finally come for him, de Sable reached futilely for the blade that Altaïr had impaled him with, just as he pulled his sword free.

 

Turning his eyes to the knights who had previously formed a ring around him and de Sable, like as not thinking that one of their own could not be bested by one of his, in case they meant to attack him for doing just that. However, not a one of them appeared willing to make such a move. Beyond the circle of knights, Altaïr saw King Richard looking on, as though the battle itself had been merely an interesting spectacle that he had been privileged to witness.

 

It was a curious thing, but Altaïr knew that there were other matters for him to attend to before he could properly address the matter of the king and his knights.

 

“It’s done, then; your schemes, like you, are put to rest,” he said calmly, for all that he was beginning to feel slightly uneasy once more.

 

When de Sable only chortled in response, Altaïr forced himself not to tense; such would only make his dismay obvious to the Templar now resting in his arms. “You know nothing of schemes; you’re but a puppet. He betrayed you, boy; just as he betrayed me.”

 

“Speak sense, Templar, or not at all,” he snapped, discomfited in the extreme, now that he could do nothing about it.

 

“Nine men he sent you to kill, yes?” de Sable asked, a serene smile settling on his face. “The nine who guarded the treasure’s secret?”

 

There had always been nine, so far as Altaïr and the other members of the Brotherhood knew: nine Templars guarding the secret of their Treasure, each passing the responsibility to their successor in their turn. It had been so for as long as the Templar Knights had existed; for the one-hundred years since they had formed, and taken the Temple Mount as their base of operations. Those who took them at their word believed that the order had been formed to protect those making their pilgrimage to the Holy Land; that they lived their lives as warrior monks for that most noble of purposes.

 

It was all a ruse, of course; the Templars had far more on their minds than simply the protection of helpless pilgrims, no matter their rhetoric to the contrary.

 

“What of it?” he asked, knowing that his suspicions were soon to either be allayed or confirmed with what de Sable said next.

 

“It wasn’t nine who found the Treasure, Assassin,” de Sable’s voice was growing softer, but for all that his smile remained serene as ever. “Not nine, but ten.”

 

His suspicion was not to be allayed, then. “A tenth? None may live who carry the secret. Give me his name.”

 

“Oh, but you know him well,” de Sable’s answering chuckle drew blood from between the Templar’s lips; Altaïr knew, then, that his time was almost at an end. “And I doubt very much you’d take his life as willingly as you’ve taken mine.”

 

“What?” It felt as though he had swallowed a still-burning ember; not simply for the sheer inevitability of the fate de Sable’s words were slowly revealing to him, but for the _other_ truth that he may yet be forced to face.

 

“It is your Master: Al Mualim,” de Sable said at last; his tone carrying an amused sort of finality to it.

 

“He is not a Templar,” Altaïr said, wanting more than anything to deny the truth he had slowly been coming to suspect; but the world was what it was, and the truth could not be denied.

 

“Did you never wonder how it was he knew so much?” de Sable pressed, sounding more amused by the word. “Where to find us? How many we numbered? Even what we hoped to attain?”

 

“He is the Master of the Assassins,” he protested weakly, for if he’d been misled so badly about _one_ matter, it was all too possible that he’d been ill-informed about more; more lives than his own might well have been at risk.

 

“Master of lies,” de Sable managed. “You, myself, and even the little one; just more pawns in his grand game. And now, with my death, only you remain. Do you really think he’ll let either of you live, knowing what you do?”

 

“We’ve no interest in the Treasure,” he said, strangling the sudden, desperate worry for Alnesr’s sake; the younger Assassin knew how to defend himself from enemies. And, just as important, he knew how to escape from those who might try to hold him.

 

“Ah, but _he_ does. The only difference between your Master and I, is that _he_ did not wish to share,” de Sable said, voice growing quieter. “Ironic, is it not? That I, your greatest enemy, kept you and your own safe from harm. But now you’ve taken my life, and in the process ended more than your own.”

 

Breathing deeply to steady himself against the sudden rush of emotions he was feeling in the wake of this latest turn of events, Altaïr looked down at the corpse of Robert de Sable. “We do not always find the things we seek,” he intoned, rising back to his feet; for a moment, he almost wished the Crusaders _would_ attack him.


	69. The last revelation

Then, he forced such thoughts out of his mind, so that he could focus on what was to come.

 

“Well fought, Assassin,” Richard said, as the king came striding over from some place to his right, through the ring of knights that parted swiftly to allow him through. “It seems God favors your cause, this day.”

 

“God had nothing to do with it,” he said calmly, having regained his composure. “I was the better fighter.”

 

“Ah; you may not believe in Him, but it seems that He believes in you,” the king said. “Before you go, I have a question.”

 

“Ask it, then,” he said, longing to be away from this place; more than anything, to know what had truly happened to Alnesr.

 

“Why? Why travel all this way? Risk your life a thousand times? All to kill a single man.”

 

“He threatened my brothers and what we stand for,” Altaïr said simply, wishing to put this man’s curiosity to rest so that he could leave.

 

“Ah,” Richard said, nodding in the manner of one who had found a kindred spirit. “Vengeance, then?”

 

“No. Not vengeance,” he said, recalling what he had felt, and thought, when he’d finally managed to end Robert de Sable’s life. “Justice; that there might be peace.”

 

“This is what you fight for?” Richard echoed, brows arching in clear surprise. “Peace? Do you see the contradiction?”

 

Richard swept his right arm to encompass the battle taking place below them, the corpses scattered about the clearing, and lastly, the still-warm corpse of Robert de Sable, staring up at them with clouded eyes.

 

“Some men cannot be reasoned with,” he said, letting his gaze pass over the Templar’s still form.

 

“Like that madman, Saladin,” Richard sighed.

 

“I think he would like to see an end to this war, as much as you,” he said; Altaïr saw a just, fair-minded king, one who strove to do right by his people, even through circumstances such as these.

 

“So I’ve heard, but never seen,” Richard said, looking as though he would have liked to believe Altaïr’s words, but could not quite bring himself to do so.

 

“Even if he doesn’t say it, it’s what the people want. Saracen and Crusader alike.”

 

“The people do not know _what_ they want,” Richard said, with a slight huff of annoyance. “It’s why they turn to men like us.”

 

“Then it falls to men like us to do what is right,” he said firmly.

 

“Nonsense,” Richard snorted. “We come into this world kicking and screaming; violent and unstable. It is what we are. We cannot help ourselves.”

 

“No,” he shook his head. “We are what we choose to be.”

 

“Your kind; always playing with words,” Richard replied, a rueful smile stretching his lips.

 

“I speak the truth. There’s no trick to be found here.”

 

“We’ll know soon enough,” Richard said, with a grunt that spoke of finality. “But I fear that you cannot have what you desire, this day. Even now, that heathen Saladin cuts through my men, and I must attend to them. But perhaps, seeing how vulnerable he is, he will reconsider his actions. In time, what you seek may be possible.”

 

“You were no more secure than him,” Altaïr reminded the king. “Do not forget that. The men you left behind, to rule in your stead, did not intend to serve you for longer than they had to.”

 

“Yes, I am well aware,” Richard said, seeming pained to admit such a thing; no one wished to think badly of those they had trusted.

 

He knew that better than most.

 

“Then I shall take my leave,” he said, nodding to Richard. “My Master and I have much to discus; it seems even _he_ is not without fault.”

 

“He is only human,” Richard said, his eyes reflecting their shared pain. “As are we all. You as well.”

 

“Safety and peace be upon you,” he said, turning to take his leave at last; if Richard said anything in return, he did not hear it.

 

If he was to be of any assistance to the Brotherhood in general, or to Alnesr in particular, he would have to leave as swiftly as he could manage. Making his way back down the ridge, and then through the sparse forest with all of its unattended dead, Altaïr took care to avoid any of those – Crusader or Saracen – who would have attempted to hinder his progress.

 

Finding his horse once more, Altaïr re-mounted the beast and urged it back into motion. Setting off back down the path, Altaïr urged his horse to move ever faster, wanting nothing more than to return to Masyaf with all possible speed. Thusly, every time he was forced to break for either a meal or a night of sleep was like a weight pressing down on his heart; he was giving the- giving _Al Mualim_ all the time he would need to solidify his control over the citadel. All the time he would need to use the Treasure for his own ends.

 

Upon the last day he needed to rest, with merely the last stretch of road between himself and Masyaf left to be covered, Altaïr forced himself to be calm and breathe deeply. He would be no good to anyone if he allowed himself to become tense, or to succumb to worry. He would need all his wits about him, if he was indeed to face what was to come.

 

The fortress was not as he had left it: the streets were eerily empty of people, and when he returned to the stable there were none there to greet him. None to attend to either his horse, or any of those that had been stabled alongside it. He would have taken such a task himself – he had the necessary skill – were he not far more concerned with the state of the Brotherhood, and just what Al Mualim might have been doing with the Templar Treasure.


	70. The hidden enemy

The light seemed to be all that existed in the world, binding him like iron chains wrapped in silk; holding him in place, else he would have attacked the man that had orchestrated all of this. He’d only seen flashes, a brief suggestion of a form hidden behind the all-encompassing light, but the picture he had formed was enough for him to go on, at least: a tall man, cloaked in heavy black garments. He was unsure if it was a bald pate or else long hair that he had seen, but he at least knew that the man had been tanned heavily.

 

Clearly, whoever this man was, he worked in the sun a great deal.

 

_“We all have our parts to play, Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr.”_

 

“Speak sense, old man, or not at all,” he snarled, having long since lost his patience with the man’s cryptic words.

 

 _“I would speak more plainly to one of my own,”_ the man in black said, with an amused chuckle that made Alnesr hate him all the more. _“But you? You’re merely a stepping-stone.”_

 

The light closed in around him once more, binding him in stranglers’ coils until he felt as though his mind would be crushed by them. _Altaïr, I wish I was with you right now…_

 

_~AC1~_

 

He’d spoken to Malik; finding that his fellow Assassin was just as troubled by Al Mualim’s betrayal as he had been, and shared in his worry for Alnesr’s sake. He was pleased to know that, but he and Malik had both agreed that it was a cold comfort under the circumstances. Making his way through the deserted halls and corridors of the fortress, Altaïr forced himself not to think on what might have been happening to Alnesr.

 

He could only hope to deal with Al Mualim; all of these machinations of his couldn’t outlast the man’s hold on the Treasure, he was sure. Or at least, he _tried_ to be so. It was not an easy thing, now that he was making his way through halls and corridors that had once bustled with the activities of his fellow Assassins, and now were as empty and silent as a disused cemetery.

 

It was not a thing that he had _ever_ thought to see in Masyaf; not a thing he had ever wanted to, either.

 

When he managed to make his way out to the gardens that Al Mualim maintained, Altaïr found that it was as empty as all the rooms that he had seen before. However, he had barely taken three steps into the garden before the sound of a bolt being thrown drew his attention. The gate had been locked behind him; it was almost as though he was facing Talal the slaver once more.

 

In the end, however, it seemed that the two of them had far more in common than he had once been willing to see.

 

_~AC1~_

 

Looking down on the Assassin from his balcony, Rashid was glad that he’d not followed his first impulse to bring Hemamah into this battle. The child – once the Assassin Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr, but now purified by the Apple’s light so that he could walk in the new world – continued to rest in Rashid’s quarters. He did not know, yet, just where he would take the boy once he had finished with the Assassin before him, but he was also aware that he would have time to decide such a thing later.

 

“What’s happening?” the Assassin demanded, now bound and struggling within the Apple’s power.

 

“So, the student returns,” he said, looking down upon the Assassin in his grasp; one more task to be attended to, and then he could decide what else he wished to do.

 

“I’ve never been one to run,” the Assassin said, defiance in every line of his struggling body.

 

Rashid was hardly impressed. “Never been one to _listen_ , either.”

 

“I still live because of it,” the Assassin snapped. “But enough games. Where is Alnesr?”

 

“He is beyond your reach,” Rashid said calmly. “But, that is not the question that must be asked now. No, the true question is, what shall I do with you?”

 

“Let me go!” the Assassin demanded.

 

“Oh, Altaïr. I hear the hatred in your voice; feel its heat,” he said, looking down with some pity upon the Assassin who had been so dutiful to him such a short time ago. “Let you go? I fear that would be unwise.”

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

Curious to the last, it seemed; perhaps he could, at least, let the Assassin go in peace. “I believed, once. Did you know that? Thought there was a God; a God who loved and looked after us. Who sent prophets to guide and comfort us. Who made miracles to remind us of his power.”

 

“What changed?” the Assassin asked, his tone curious, though no more gentle than it had been,

 

“I found proof,” he said, gathering his will and focusing it into the Apple again.

 

“Proof of what?”


	71. False truths

When he heard Al Mualim making his last pronouncement, Altaïr had not truly known what to expect. However, finding himself facing the nine Templars he had slain to come to this final reckoning was not what he had been expecting by a long road. Gathering himself for combat once more, shutting away his worries for Alnesr, Malik, and the others of the Brotherhood who served in Masyaf, as well as the lingering surprise and betrayal he still felt, Altaïr threw himself back into combat with a will.

 

Cutting the illusory Templars down just as easily as he’d managed when they were flesh and blood standing before him, Altaïr turned his attention back to Al Mualim.

 

“Face me,” he demanded, after he’d managed to catch his breath; his robes and underclothes were soaked and uncomfortable with sweat, but he knew that the battle was far from over. “Or, are you afraid?”

 

“I have stood before a thousand men, each of them superior to you, and all of them dead,” Al Mualim scoffed. “By my hand.”

 

Standing his ground as Al Mualim leaped from the balcony, Altaïr watched as the man rose back to his feet once more. He still held the Apple, the bright, glowing trinket held out in front of him as though Al Mualim intended to offer it to him. Though Altaïr knew that there was as little chance of that as of either of them learning to fly.

 

“I am not afraid of you, child.”

 

“Prove it, then,” he challenged.

 

He knew that Al Mualim would see his words as the ruse they truly were; that, even though he was ultimately a traitor, he had still been Master of the Assassins. No one gained such a rank without great skills in various forms of combat.

 

“What could I possibly have to fear?” almost before the words themselves had passed Al Mualim’s lips, eight duplicates seemingly emerged from within the old man’s body; each of them armed with a sword of their own. “Look at the power I command!”

 

Bracing himself for combat once more, Altaïr raised his own blade and met the first of the Apple’s second wave of duplicates. These were no stronger or more capable than the last wave that he had been made to face, and so he was done with them easily. Standing once more before Al Mualim, Altaïr breathed slowly and deeply to steady his trembling muscles once again.

 

Finding himself restrained by the power of the Apple again, Altaïr allowed himself to relax slightly; all the better that Al Mualim thought himself in control, so he could learn what he needed to kill the traitor – doubly traitorous, considering all that he’d learned during the course of his work – and have done with his mission at last.

 

“Have you any final words?”

 

“You lied to me,” he said, not bothering to keep a snarl out of his voice. “You called Robert’s goal foul, when all along it was your own, as well.”

 

“I’ve never been much good at sharing,” Al Mualim said, sounding almost rueful at the pronouncement.

 

“You won’t succeed,” he said with certainty. “Others will find the strength to stand against you.”

 

“And this is why, so long as men maintain free will, there can be no peace,” Al Mualim said, sighing as though in sorrow that he was forced to such an end.

 

“I killed the last man who spoke as such,” Altaïr reminded them both.

 

“Bold words, _boy_ ,” the old man laughed. “But just words.”

 

“Let me go, then,” he challenged. “I’ll put words into action.” Narrowing his eyes, considering some way that he could prod the old man into making a mistake, Altaïr decided to ask the question that had been troubling him ever since Al Mualim had been revealed for the man he truly was. “Tell me, Master: why did you not make me like the other Assassins? Why allow me to retain my mind?”

 

“Who you are and what you do are twinned too tight,” the old man said. “To rob you of one would have deprived me of the other, and those Templars had to die,” Al Mualim sighed softly. “But the truth is, I did try. In my study, when I showed you the Treasure; but you are not like the others. You saw through the illusion.”

 

“What did you do to Alnesr, then?” he demanded.

 

Surely someone he had raised as his own would not be susceptible to such falsities.

 

“The child… for all that he allowed you to touch his life, that boy was unique in all the world. He was never truly _yours_ ,” Al Mualim said. “He is beyond you, Altaïr. Beyond all cares or troubles.”

 

He did not know how to respond to such an assertion, and he knew that he still needed to have done with Al Mualim at last.

 

“What you have planned is no less of an illusion: to force men to follow you against their will.”

 

“Is it any less real than the phantoms the Saracens and Crusaders follow now? Those craven gods who retreat from this world, that men might slaughter one another in their names? They live amongst an illusion already. I’m simply giving them another; one that demands less blood.”

 

“At least they _choose_ these phantoms,” he stated firmly.

 

“Do they? Aside from the occasional convert, or heretic?”

 

“It isn’t right,” Altaïr snapped in response.

 

“Ah, and now logic has left you,” Al Mualim said, sounding disappointed. “In its place, you embrace emotion. I am disappointed.”

 

“What is to be done, then?” he demanded.

 

“You will not follow me, and I cannot compel you,” Al Mualim said, the expression on his worn face appearing sorrowful enough that Altaïr wondered just how he was managing to do such a thing.

 

“And, you refuse to abandon this evil scheme,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

 

“It seems, then, that we are at an impasse,” Al Mualim said, the fire beginning to return to his eyes.

 

“No, we are at an _end_ ,” he snapped, gathering himself for combat once again.


	72. Rashid ad-Din Sinan

“I will miss you, Altaïr,” Al Mualim said, unsheathing his sword. “You were one of my very best students.”

 

It was as though the years of his life were melting away as Al Mualim gathered himself for the coming battle. As the two of them met in combat for the first time, without the illusions of the Apple interfering with them, Altaïr found the skills that he had honed during the course of his life and work being put to the greatest test that he had encountered during the course of his life as an Assassin.

 

Watching as Al Mualim seemed to vanish and reappear several paces from where he had once been standing, Altaïr took careful note of how the old man held himself; it seemed that, every time he used that strange power, it took some measure of his own energy.

 

Pressing the old man harder, knowing now that Al Mualim did not have all the time in the world the way he had clearly wished to pretend. He now knew that there was indeed a way to triumph over the man, to defeat him while staying true to the very ideals that the old man had so callously cast aside in his pursuit of power for his own ends. Knew that, now that he understood the power that the old man was using more completely, he _would_ be able to kill him.

 

Just as he had killed all of those Templars that needed to die.

 

Pressing further forward, harrying Al Mualim every time he vanished and reappeared further away in an effort to give himself more room to breathe, Altaïr began at last to see that his plan had borne fruit. Steadying himself once more, Altaïr drove forward with his blade again. He would not be defeated by something so simple as an illusion, even one so compelling as that which the Apple could create.

 

He would not think of such as the Templars’ treasure anymore; not when he was so close to being able to take it for the Brotherhood, so that he and the others would be able to keep it out of the hands of those who would seek to misuse its power for their own ends. Or, perhaps to destroy it, so that no one else would be able to make use of its power.

 

Yes; if this Apple that the Templars seemed to be determined to reclaim was indeed capable of corrupting someone like Al Mualim, it could clearly not be allowed to fall into the hands of anyone else. Altaïr did not know if he would even have trusted _himself_ with that power. When he leaped forward, driving his sword into Al Mualim’s body with a roar of pain and triumph, Altaïr wondered for a long moment just what the old, former Assassin had made of this happening.

 

“Impossible,” Al Mualim gasped wetly, as Altaïr knelt down beside him. “The student does not defeat the teacher.” Altaïr hung his head; this was not a victory he had ever wanted. “You have won, then; go and claim your prize.”

 

“You held fire in your hand, old man,” he said, looking at the Apple where it had rolled onto the marble pathway in Al Mualim’s garden. “It should have been destroyed.”

 

“Destroy the only thing capable of ending the Crusades and creating true peace?” Al Mualim laughed; Altaïr shook his head at the sheer depths of the corruption he was bearing witness to. This was, pure and simply, madness. “ _Never_.”

 

“Then I will,” he said calmly, rising to his feet as he tried to feel such calm as he had projected with his voice; it was not an easy thing.

 

“We’ll see about that.”


	73. The Apple revealed

_“It seems things have proceeded along well enough,”_ the man hidden in the light said, sounding more pleased than Alnesr could account for; there was truly no way for him to know just what had happened, what even then _was_ happening, outside of the endless light that he found himself trapped within. _“Time for your part, then.”_

He felt the stranglers’ coils releasing him, and narrowed his eyes at the black-cloaked man who now stood before him.

 

_“Well? I had thought that you wanted answers, Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr.”_

 

“What madness do you speak now?” he demanded, holding himself ready for whatever else would come.

 

 _“If you can catch me, I will give you all the answers you desire,”_ the cloaked man held out a hand; gloved in black or white, Alnesr could not say with any certainty. _“However, if_ I _catch you, you will lose far more than merely a race.”_

 

Without a word, wanting more than anything to have whatever answers this cloaked man was hiding from him, Alnesr dashed after him. It seemed, however, that the man had had training comparable to a member of the Brotherhood. Perhaps he was a Templar? Or even a traitor?

 

Alnesr did not know the answers to such questions as he had now, but the cloaked man had made it known that he would provide the answers that Alnesr craved, in exchange for merely out competing him in a contest of physical skill. However, it quickly became more than clear that the man in the black cloak was far swifter than his earlier demeanor would have suggested.

 

For no matter how doggedly Alnesr pursued him, no matter what measure of his own skill he employed – learned at the feet of one of the greatest among the Brotherhood – the man in the black cloak seemed to be at least several steps ahead for every one that Alnesr made.

 

 _“Far enough.”_ Alnesr felt as though he had been slammed into a stone wall, when the black cloaked man’s hand merely rested lightly on his head. _“No one with eyes could deny your skill, Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr; but in the end, it seems I did indeed catch you.”_ The man’s chuckle was like to make him clench his fists in response, if he could’ve moved his body in the slightest. _“Now, for the prize I was promised…”_

 

The light encroached upon his thoughts again, leaving him with naught more than empty nothingness…

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

When he had finally managed to pry the Apple free from Abbas’ clenched hand, the pulses of light that had been lashing out almost aggressively from the odd silver sphere that his former friend had so foolishly reached out to claim it still not dying down now that he held it in his own hands, Altaïr tried to think of just what it was that he could do to stop such a thing from continuing. He was aware on some level of the third Assassin joining them inside the tower where he and Abbas stood, but as they had not made any hostile movements, Altaïr was content to leave them where they stood.

 

He would attend to them later, if they were still in need of reassurance after all that they might have seen.

 

Looking into the Apple as he held it out before him, Altaïr once again found himself wrapped in the item’s power. It was indeed a temptation, as Al Mualim had said not so long ago; it would corrupt the hearts and minds of any who sought to use it for the purpose that it had been seemingly made for. And yet, Altaïr wondered if it could not be put to a more benign use.

 

Perhaps it could not corrupt the mind of one who merely used it to gain knowledge… or perhaps that was what Al Mualim had thought, when he had gained possession of the Apple.

 

“Have you anything to teach us? Or would you lead us all to ruin?”

 

He knew that such a thing as the Apple would not be able to answer the questions that he had asked, and so Altaïr turned his attention to the one who had merely stood and watched as this drama had played out under his very eyes.

 

“And you, silent one, what would you…” when he turned to look into the face of the one who had watched them with such calmness as no one here should have truly been able to show, Altaïr realized just who it was. “Alnesr? It pleases me to see you well, but…”

 

And there, he caught sight of the younger Assassin’s eyes. They were the same blank white as the light shining out of the Apple, and they even pulsed in that same rhythm. He did not truly know what to make of such a happening, but he at least knew that he had to return Alnesr to his senses else there would be nothing he could find out from his fellow about this. Stepping closer to the younger Assassin, Altaïr lifted his chin.


	74. The Vessel and the Little Eagle

The sight of Alnesr’s eyes, filled with the eerie light of the Apple, and more than likely blind to everything that truly existed in the world, was not one that Altaïr relished in the slightest.

 

“You are not an empty vessel for the Apple’s power,” he said, resting his right hand on the younger Assassin’s head; he could all but see the young man bound within the light, struggling even then to be free. Altaïr did not truly know if what he found before his eyes was true in any sense but the most metaphorical, but all the same it was something to hold to. “You are a member of the Brotherhood; an Assassin, as I am. Now, wake up.” The figure bound in the light, the one that looked as Alnesr looked, the one that seemed to be struggling against some sort of bonds that held him still. “Wake up, Alnesr.”

 

For a few moments, Altaïr thought that he saw a man garbed in black robes walking around the struggling form of Alnesr within the light, and he wondered if Al Mualim’s mind could have somehow survived the destruction of his body. It was only for a moment, however; the figure vanished with a flourish of his black robes, and the light departed Alnesr’s eyes at the same moment.

 

He did not know just how the younger Assassin would cope with what had happened to him, and so he was not entirely surprised when Alnesr almost leaped into his embrace. After a moment, however, the younger Assassin looked discomfited and then pulled away. However, it was clearly not because he had recovered from his ordeal, but because he thought his actions unseemly.

 

“It is nothing against you, to feel the need for reassurance after an ordeal such as this,” he said gently; he took brief note of Abbas, leaving the tower without words or a look back, but then returned his attention to Alnesr. “In truth, I find myself concerned over this latest turn of events.”

 

“Thank you, Altaïr,” the younger Assassin said, leaning lightly against him as the two of them paused briefly to regain their composure after all the upheavals of this day of days.

 

After a few moments spent to compose themselves once more, Altaïr led Alnesr down from the tower, and back through the citadel itself. The younger Assassin seemed to have mastered himself well after all that he had been through, and Altaïr was pleased to take note of such. They had a great deal of work ahead of them, if they were indeed to restore the Brotherhood back to what it had been before Al Mualim had betrayed them all.

 

Though Altaïr felt that, as one who had been closest to the man, he had ultimately suffered the greatest betrayal; though he tried not to think in such a way.

 

Once he and Alnesr had made it out of Masyaf once more, Altaïr found the same crowd of fellow Assassins waiting for him in the courtyard. All of them looked as though they had not yet recovered from what had happened; he could hardly fault them for that, however, given the events that had actually taken place. To say nothing of the man who had ultimately been responsible for them.

 

He spoke to those Assassins who had gathered before him, reassuring them that Al Mualim was indeed dead, in spite of the vision that he had been given by the Apple. He’d no way of truly knowing just who that man in the black cloak had been, or even if he had existed at all. He did not wish for anyone else to worry about a presence that might not have even been real.

 

He spotted Abbas, standing at the far edges of the crowd; he wasn’t such a fool as to think that his former friend would be willing to let go of his resentment so quickly after everything that had happened.

 

However, he knew that he could not afford to take too much time reassuring his brother Assassins that things were going to be returning to normal. Not if he was to intercept the Templars before they could depart for whatever new place they would choose to go now that he had driven them out of the Holy Land and laid full claim to the Treasure that they had been guarding.

 

“You called for me, Master Altaïr?” Malik said, smiling in that amused way he had, even as he spoke Altaïr’s new title.

 

“Thank you for coming so quickly, my friend,” he said, smiling as he, Malik, and Alnesr continued on their way back into Masyaf. “You know, as I do, that the Templars will not remain idle after this. If we are to take advantage of the confusion that these deaths will have doubtless caused within their ranks, we will need to act quickly.”

 

“What did you have in mind, Altaïr?” Alnesr asked, his bearing and expression far more calm for the time that he had been given to compose himself.

 

“We should pursue this lead; find out where it is that they intend to go from here on,” he said, leaning against the doorway that led into what had once been Al Mualim’s study.

 

Altaïr was not yet comfortable with calling such a thing his own as yet, and he was also fully aware that, once he and those he would select to aid him in the task of reorganizing and re-cataloging the texts in what had been Al Mualim’s study truly began it in earnest, the full weight of the events of the past two days – or day and a half, as he could not quite recall just what time during the day he had returned to Masyaf for his final confrontation – would fall upon him once again. He’d not the time to deal with such things, not with the Templars still at large, and not with their activities currently unknown. Not when there was a chance to be finished with the Templars once and for all.

 

“Alnesr, do you think that you could accompany me on another mission?” he asked, firmly turning his gaze away from the empty study that Al Mualim had once worked within.

 

“I will accompany you on this mission, if you truly wish me to, Altaïr,” Alnesr said.

 

Altaïr nodded.; it was not simply for the sake of such a close association as they had, that he had chosen Alnesr to accompany him on this next mission of his. His brother Assassin clearly needed to understand that he, and no other, was fully in control of his life, after however long he had spent with his mind bound inside the Apple. Altaïr was not willing to believe that the man Al Mualim had become after so long spent with the Treasure in his possession would _not_ have imprisoned Alnesr’s mind within it once he had become aware of such a power.

 

It was what anyone who had willingly chosen to ally themselves with the Templars, and further to betray even _them_ for more power, would have done.


	75. Moving Forward

He spoke with Malik and Alnesr both, telling them of what he had thought and the tentative plans he had formed, and listened in turn to what they thought and had realized during the course of these trying times. Alnesr, he was pleased to note, spoke freely of his opinions. Though naturally he’d little to meaningfully contribute, considering his circumstances.

 

“The both of you should leave now, if you’re to catch up to the Templars and find where they’ve taken shelter after these upheavals,” Malik said, as the three of them moved away from the door to Al Mualim’s former study.

 

Altaïr knew that, soon enough, his brother Assassins would come to think of the place as his, and he was still not certain how he felt about the idea.

 

“We’ll be returning to the cities we visited before,” he said; best to begin the search where there had been a known Templar presence, before moving onto those he’d not visited in some time. “It’s likely they will still have some signs of where the surviving Templars will go to next.”

 

Malik agreed with his reasoning, and Altaïr smiled slightly as his brother Assassin wished them good fortune in their hunt. Departing with the assurance that Malik and his trusted would attend to at least the beginnings of the repairs that needed to be made, to the morale of the Brotherhood if not at any of the buildings, he led Alnesr down to the stables and the both of them mounted freshly-provisioned horses.

 

Returning to each one of the cities that he had previously visited, this time with Alnesr by his side, Altaïr was able to find out that the remaining Templars were congregating at the main port in Acre. He did not yet know just where they were planning to go from there, but with the information network that he was now in charge of, it would be a more simple matter than usual to find out where they planned to head after their various leaders had been killed.

 

Working closely with Alnesr, and alongside Acre’s Rafiq Jabal, Altaïr was able to find out that the Templars were not going to depart immediately, but were instead gathering their brethren in Acre so that they would be able to depart in force from the port. It was then that Altaïr realized what the next best course of action would be.

 

“Alnesr, you stay here and keep an eye on the situation,” he said to his brother Assassin, once the two of them had returned to Acre’s Bureau for the day. “I will return to Masyaf and speak with Malik.”

 

“Of course, Altaïr,” the younger Assassin said, nodding sharply.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Seeing Altaïr off, Alnesr turned back to Jabal once more. “Will you let me know if anything important happens? I should probably eat.”

 

“And then sleep, I think,” Jabal said, smiling in that gentle way he had.

 

“Yes,” Alnesr said, chuckling gently as he lowered his gaze. “I thank you for your concern, Jabal.”

 

Leaving the Bureau’s front room so that he could take his meal and then rest in comfort, Alnesr gathered some dried figs and dates from the stores, along with a jug of water to quench his thirst, and made for the small table just opposite the pile of blankets and cushions that served as a bed within the room where he now sat. Once he had finished with his meal, Alnesr set his weapons aside and settled down to take his rest for the night.

 

Once he had awakened the next morning, Alnesr rearmed himself and made his way out to where Jabal was waiting for him. It had always seemed to be that way: the Rafiq of whatever Bureau he and Altaïr had stayed at would appear at their desk before either he or Altaïr had come out to speak with them, and to a man they had always appeared fresh and rested. There were times that he wondered what the daily life of a Rafiq truly entailed, but then he would remember his own duties as an Assassin.

 

Here and now, Alnesr resolved again to remember his own duties and so not to concern himself with those of others.


	76. Settling

Speaking with Jabal, Alnesr found that the Informants had been assigned to monitor the activities of the Templars making their way into the city, which rather removed the necessity of him leaving the Bureau at all. Thanking Jabal for his consideration, though he found himself rather at loose ends in light of it, Alnesr made for the other room within the Bureau to hone his skill.

 

He did not know just how his body had been affected by the time that he had spent blind and all but helpless under the influence of the Apple’s power, but Alnesr was determined to restore his skill – if such a thing did indeed prove to be necessary – or else to improve it. He had also resolved to ask Altaïr if there had been something more that had happened when he had been released from the Apple’s power.

 

Something that would explain the way that his brother Assassin had looked over his shoulder for the first moments of Alnesr’s own returned awareness.

 

Training occupied a great deal of his time, and he also spoke with Jabal about what the Rafiq had learned of the Templar’s aims. It seemed that they were indeed making for the port, there to depart for one of their other strongholds. He and Jabal speculated on where they might have been going, but they both ultimately decided that such conjecture was futile with their present lack of knowledge.

 

However, he did receive news that Altaïr and a squad of their brother Assassins was making their way into Acre.

 

The citizens would not be permitted to know about their movements, of course, but Alnesr was at least pleased that he would have the chance to speak with Altaïr once more. Waiting in the Bureau’s secondary room for his former mentor and their brother Assassins to arrive, Alnesr smiled softly as he watched Altaïr and his chosen group descending once more into the Bureau.

 

“I see you waited for us, Alnesr.”

 

“Yes,” he said, smiling gently as his former mentor and father-in-all-but-blood made his way over to the table where he had set out food for them.

 

Altaïr thanked him for his consideration, and Alnesr accepted such thanks gracefully. Once he, Altaïr, and their brother Assassins had finished the meal he’d set out for them, Alnesr turned his attention to his former mentor as Altaïr began to discuss their next course of action. He contributed to the conversation when he was called upon to do so, and eventually it was decided that he and Altaïr would confront the Templars who had stationed themselves at Acre’s main port, while their brother Assassins would swiftly deal with any other Templars who sought to make their own way to the port.

 

Following swiftly on the heels of one of his brother Assassins, Alnesr made his way back up to the rooftops of Acre for the first time in what felt like entirely too long. He knew that such thoughts were false, considering that he and Altaïr had made their journey into this place not such a long time ago. Still, after he had spent an interminable amount of time bound within the power of the Apple, he couldn’t help the feeling slightly trapped when he could not see the open sky.

 

He wondered for a long moment if he would ever properly recover from such an ordeal, but Alnesr quickly put such thoughts out of his mind; he was an Assassin, he would will his way through.

 

Following Altaïr as he and the rest of their brother Assassins made their way to the main port of Acre, moving over the rooftops alongside Altaïr while the larger part of their group blended into the large crowd of citizens making their way into and out of the large, main port of Acre. For a moment, Alnesr felt as he always had when he’d done the Brotherhood’s work under the stern, exacting guidance of his former mentor. Still, there was a thought in the back of Alnesr’s mind that had not been there before.

 

It was as though he was only now aware of a presence just behind his eyes; one that seemed to watch all of his activities with a cold sort of scrutiny, one that did not _seem_ to have anything but the most innocuous intentions, and yet one that Alnesr found that he could not bring himself to trust in the slightest.

 

Making up his mind that he would speak to Altaïr about such things as he had experienced when the two of them truly had a free moment to speak, Alnesr turned his full attention back to the infiltration that lay before him. Though infiltration seemed too grand a word for what they were doing, considering that he’d not seen a single Templar guard, or even a guard who was _not_ a Templar, for that matter.


	77. A new hunt begins

He had a long moment to wonder if he and Alnesr would encounter any resistance this night, or if their brother Assassins had managed to dispose of them all on their way in. It would be all the more fortunate for them if such were indeed the case, and yet he thought that Alnesr might not appreciate such a thing. The sound of far-off people speaking in low tones drew his attention to the group of guards making their way through the harbor, clearly on patrol.

 

Signaling to Alnesr to follow his lead more closely, Altaïr moved closely along the harbor wall, taking care to keep out of sight even as he watched the guards separating from one another. The foremost guard was now almost directly under his and Alnesr’s position, and as Altaïr leaped lightly from the rooftops, he wondered if the guard’s thoughts were of home. If he missed his home, in England or France, and the family he might have left behind.

 

He wished, as he drove his hidden blade into the guard’s neck, that he could have found another way.

 

Watching as Alnesr descended – silent, swift, and deadly – upon the former guard’s partner, Altaïr allowed himself a moment to sigh, before turning his attention to whatever guards might remain to challenge them. As it turned out, however, the rest of their brother Assassins had come to meet with them here. Issuing orders to them in a low tone, so as not to arouse the attention of any other guards. However, the presence of more of the Templars’ forces in the area was hardly something that could be ignored.

 

Leaving the Templars in the capable hands of his brother Assassins, Altaïr signaled Alnesr to follow him back up to the rooftops. There was a gnawing fear at the back of his mind: that he had waited too long to gather his forces; that the Templars would have already departed from the harbor while he had been gathering the necessary forces that he thought would be needed to face them.

 

When he and Alnesr made it to the top of the harbor’s perimeter wall, looking out over the sea, Altaïr found that his misgivings had more ground in reality than he would have honestly preferred: he could see a small fleet of Templar ships, barely visible in the gathering darkness, departing over the Mediterranean Sea. Cursing lowly, even as he heard Alnesr sighing, Altaïr turned swiftly and began making for the heart of the docks.

 

He could hear the sounds of far-off battle, and while pleased to note that it did not seem to be drawing closer in any way, he could also hear the greater intensity of the battle as more of their brother Assassins arrived to reinforce those who were already present. He could also hear Alnesr, following swiftly along behind him, and a fleeting smile passed over his face. They may not have been in time to put a halt to the Templars’ evacuation of the area outright, but Altaïr was determined to at least prevent them from establishing themselves once more.

 

He was certain that the key to doing such lay within the fortress that presided over Acre’s docks; the fortress where he had cornered Sibrand the last time he had come to this city.

 

Trusting Alnesr to follow him, Altaïr moved swiftly forward into the fortress. The pale gray stone, washed nearly colorless in the weak light of the moon and stars, absorbed the sounds of his and Alnesr’s footfalls as they made their way inside. The inside of the fortress seemed completely free of Templar presences, a notable contrast from when Altaïr had last been present in this place; he and Alnesr climbed various stone stairways until they came to a balcony, where he could hear the sound of voices raised in conversation.

 

One of them, the one who gave him the strongest feelings of both elation and dismay when he heard her voice, was the woman who had been present at Majd Addin’s funeral to prevent him from being able to attack Robert de Sable the second time that he had tried; he’d no care for the other two Templars.

 

“Where are my ships, soldier?” the woman demanded, clearly displeased to have been forced to wait as she was now. “I was told there would be another fleet of eight.”

 

Taking a glance out over the darkening sea, Altaïr saw the small fleet of Templar ships that the woman had doubtless been speaking of. He wondered for a moment just how many others had previously departed while he and his brother Assassins had been deliberating, and also if he could have done anything more to stop them. But no; Alnesr and Jabal were the only ones present and hence in any position to have done anything at the time, and he would not have risked Alnesr’s safety on such a foolish gambit in any case.

 

“I’m sorry, Maria, but this is the best we could do,” one of the remaining Templar soldiers said, sounding genuinely contrite.

 

He was pleased to be able to hear the woman’s name once more, and to be able to observe her without being observed in turn, but he could not help but to wonder just what had occurred to bring her to this state. Yes, he had killed Robert de Sable, but surely her own skills as a warrior was not an asset that the Templars wished to squander. Narrowing his eyes in thought, Altaïr settled back to observe, signaling Alnesr to do the same when the younger Assassin looked askance at him.

 

“How do you propose to get the rest of us to Cyprus, then?” she asked.

 

He wondered just what the Templars could want in Cyprus.

 

“Begging your pardon, but it might be better if you stayed in Acre,” the soldier said, sounding rather hesitant about voicing such an opinion.

 

Altaïr wondered at that, as well; perhaps this was yet one more thing that separated he and his brother Assassins from the Templars that they fought. He himself had met women who had chosen to dedicate themselves to the Brotherhood, few enough as they were; whether driven to escape the strictures of their former lives, or else simply wanting to be something more, Altaïr would never have been so callous to disparage his sister Assassins – rare as they were – for encountering an opponent beyond their current skill.

 

“What? Is that a threat?” Maria asked, sounding far more cautious than she had previously.

 

“It’s fair warning,” the Knight said, his tone neutral but hardly unkind. “Armand Bouchart is Grand Master now, and he doesn’t hold you in high regard.”


	78. Unsettled

Catching Alnesr’s eye, he saw the younger Assassin nod. It seemed they would not have such a simple time dealing with these Templars as he’d once thought; they were not so leaderless as he had surmised. A troublesome development in some respects, and entirely unsurprising in others. While he may have despised the Templars’ means to achieving the goals they pursued – the goals that he and his brother Assassins shared – he was not so arrogant as to think them less intelligent than himself.

 

Not after all he had done during the course of his hunt for the nine Templars who had once held such power within the Holy Land.

 

“Why you _insolent_ …” Maria bridled for a long moment, but then seemed to force herself to regain her composure. “Very well. I shall find my own way to Limassol.”

 

“Yes, milady,” the Templar said, bowing as he left.

 

Maria was left alone on the balcony, and as Alnesr came to stand beside him, he could hear Maria beginning to speak to herself in the tone of one who had been completely fed up with a situation.

 

“Damn. I was a single heartbeat from knighthood,” she groused, pacing the length of the balcony and then back again. “Now I’m little more than a mercenary.”

 

Moving softly forward, even as he signaled Alnesr to stay behind and guard their backs, Altaïr admitted to himself that there was not simply a practical purpose behind his current actions. He was not fully aware of the nature of the regard he held for this woman named Maria, but he would not deny that it was present and that he felt it, all the same. Such would have been the height of foolishness, and so an insult to his brother Assassins and the work they did.

 

“Well,” she said, calming quickly after she had spun to see him so swiftly. “It’s the man who spared my neck, but stole my life all the same.”

 

He’d little time to wonder what she meant, before her blade was out and she had fallen upon him with the fury he was so familiar with from Addin’s funeral. The fury that made him wish, for those breathless pauses between the swing of their respective blades, that he could convince her to renounce her allegiance to the Templars. Still, such a thing would ultimately depend on how deeply she believed in the ideals that the Templars held.

 

It was, much as he would regret such a thing, entirely possible that he would be forced to kill her as he had the rest of de Sable’s fellow Templars.

 

Sparing a quick glance at Alnesr, he found the younger Assassin intently watching for any of Maria’s fellow Templars that might have taken an undue interest in the battle that he and the woman were participating in atop the balcony where they might have been glimpsed by those beneath. He did not know if the prospect of Maria’s fellow Templars coming to her aid was a likely one, given that she had been associated with a fallen Grand Master of their Order, but he was pleased to know that Alnesr was prepared for them in such an event.

 

When he found himself with his back to the balustrade, Altaïr wondered for a pair of heartbeats if Maria would manage to force him over it and into the sea. He knew that Alnesr would act to save him, could not help but know it after all that the pair of them had been forced to endure, but Altaïr could not stop the thought from running through his mind. It _would_ be a rather ironic fate, to be bested by one that he himself had bested in the past, and beyond that he did not in any way relish the thought of being made to swim.

 

Unlikely as he knew it would be for Alnesr to allow him to fall into the sea itself, such a thing might very well be beyond the younger Assassin’s control in the event that he were bested by this woman.

 

However, in her desperation to win she became rather careless, and Altaïr was able to regain the initiative once more. Spinning and kicking her legs from under her, Altaïr pounced, holding his blade to her throat. Alnesr’s soft footsteps came up beside him, but Altaïr kept his eyes upon Maria. He knew that his brother Assassin would understand the reason for his caution in such a case.

 

“Returned to finish me off, have you?” she demanded, looking with defiance at him, while sparing only the briefest of glances at Alnesr.

 

“Not just yet,” he said, maintaining his composure even in the face of his fascination with the woman he found before him; it was slightly more difficult than controlling his anger, but as he was a curious person by nature, Altaïr could not truthfully say that he had been unprepared for such a thing. “I want information: why are the Templars sailing to Cyprus?”

 

“It’s been a long, dirty war, Assassin,” she said, grinning confidently at him; he suspected that such was a façade, but could not help admiring her nerve once more. “Everyone deserves a respite.”

 

He bit back a smile, even as he continued holding her at bay; he knew that Alnesr would have questions for him after this, and he almost welcomed them. “The more you tell me, the longer you live. So I ask again: why the retreat to Cyprus?”

 

“What retreat?” Maria asked, clearly having regained her mental footing. “King Richard has brokered a truce with Salah Al’din. Your Order is leaderless, is it not? Once we recover the Apple of Eden, _you’ll_ be the ones running.”

 

He caught Alnesr’s eye briefly, and the two of them shared a knowing glance. The two of them were fully aware of just how difficult their brother Assassins would make such a thing, if the Templars did indeed seek to attack Masyaf once more. He was also fully aware that the Brotherhood _did_ have a leader, though he was not about to enter into such a discussion with Maria; not as long as she maintained her ties to the Templars and hence her support of their methods.

 

“The Apple of Eden is well hidden,” he said, carefully not looking to Alnesr; the two of them both knew that the artifact was still in his quarters, and thus not all that well protected as it might otherwise have been.

 

Conversely, there was also less of a chance of someone who was not prepared to resist the lure of the artifact taking hold of it if it stayed close to him; thus, there were advantages and dangers to every course of action he could take with regard to it.

 

“Consider your options carefully. The Templars would pay a great price for that relic.”

 

“I would say they already have,” Alnesr muttered, his tone mordantly amused, as the two of them led her down from the balcony and out of the fortress.

 

He and Alnesr had soon gathered together with their brother Assassins once more, and Altaïr took a moment to hear their reports in what privacy he could find in their current situation. Out of the corner of his left eye, he could see Alnesr and Jabal speaking with one another, and he was pleased that the younger Assassin had taken initiative where Maria was concerned. Once he had heard the reports, Altaïr made his way over to where Jabal and Alnesr stood.

 

“What’s happening on Cyprus that would concern the Templars?” he asked, having made up his mind to follow the Templars to their new stronghold.

 

He and Alnesr would journey to Limassol.


	79. A Master’s Work

“Civil strife, perhaps?” Jabal suggested, his hands spread in confusion. “Their emperor, Issac Comnenus, picked a fight with King Richard many months ago, and now he rots in a Templar dungeon.”

 

“A pity,” he mused aloud. “Issac was so easily bent. So willing to take a bribe.”

 

When they stopped at the harbor steps, Altaïr watched as Maria was led past them, her chin held high in defiance. It was all he could do not to smile; it was clear that, in spite of the people she served, Maria was a worthy opponent. Altaïr still wished that she could be something more, however.

 

“Those days are past,” Jabal said, returning his attention to the present. “Now, the Templars own the island. Purchased from the king for a paltry sum.”

 

“That is not the sort of government we wish to encourage,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes in thought. “Do we have any contacts there?”

 

“I know of one in Limassol,” Jabal said. “A man named Alexander.”

 

“Send him a message,” Altaïr said, turning back to the Rafiq. “Tell him to expect us in a week.”

 

“You wish for me to come with you, Altaïr?”

 

“Yes,” he said, nodding to Alnesr as the younger Assassin came to stand beside him. “You and I have done good work in the past, and I would appreciate the presence of one I know I can trust fully at my back.”

 

When Alnesr thanked him for the confidence that had been shown to him, Altaïr reflected upon the secondary reasons that he wished to have Alnesr present on this next mission. It was not simply because of the bond they had shared as master and apprentice, nor was it simply because they had worked well together in the past. Because while those were both valid reasons in and of themselves, he also wished to keep Alnesr close because the younger Assassin had been bathed – trapped, really – in the light of the Apple, and come out.

 

He wished, more than anything else, to ensure that his brother Assassin would not suffer any ill-effects from what had happened to him.

 

He also wished to find out who the man in black robes that he had briefly glimpsed within the light of the Apple. He knew now that it was not Al Mualim, as he had burned the man’s body and the man in black robes had not made a single move. And also, while he’d not gotten a clear glimpse of the robed man’s face, the way the man had moved when Altaïr _had_ seen him had not been at all similar to the way that Al Mualim had moved.

 

Still, he knew that it would be best if he and Alnesr were able to speak in private, so Altaïr turned his attention back to the preparations he was making to sail. He would need more supplies than merely his own weapons and those Alnesr was carrying, and so Altaïr made is way to the docks to secure himself a ship so that he, Alnesr, and Maria would be able to depart for Cyprus and their next mission.

 

_~AC: BL~_

 

Narrowing her eyes as she watched the Assassins scurrying around, attending to their various tasks, Maria ground her teeth at the thought of what she was being subjected to. Being captured by these Assassins was a humiliation that she could barely tolerate; particularly that arrogant one that she had faced in combat. The one that had bested her, and then not even had the decency to take her life once he had done so. There was also the matter of that strange, yellow-eyed boy in Assassins’ robes that had been standing so close to him.

 

It seemed that the two of them were as close to one another as she had been to Robert, something that she could understand, if not sympathize with.

 

The Assassins had gathered at the docks now, and Maria found herself being hustled onto the ship that was soon to depart for the island of Cyprus; and beyond that to Limassol castle. Holding her head up proudly, unwilling to let these Assassins have the pleasure of seeing her brought low. The eyes of the Assassin who had bested her were upon her again, as well as the pale yellow of the boy he seemed so close to. The defiant expression she gave the man was answered merely by a smile, and she scoffed in response.

 

He was a fool for underestimating her in such a way, and she would do all in her power to ensure that he regretted such a thing.

 

Once the three of them had boarded the ship, settling in as well as they could manage with the persistent atmosphere of wariness that could not help but be present under such circumstances, Maria secluded herself as far away from the pair of them as she could manage under such cramped conditions.

 

_~AC: BL~_

 

He was willing to admit, if presently only to himself, that he was intrigued by Maria and so appreciated the opportunity that he had been given to come to know her better. She had a strength and conviction about her that reminded him of his fellow Assassins, and he’d found himself wishing once more that he’d had the chance to speak to her on more civil terms. Still, perhaps he would have that chance while they were in Cyprus.

 

Setting out his journal and the Apple both, Altaïr began recording his observations about the artifact, all the while pondering upon its intended nature and purpose. If there was any good to be found within the Apple, Altaïr hoped to find it; however, if the Piece of Eden _was_ only capable of bringing misery and strife, he could only hope that he had the strength of will to destroy it.

 

All of this he recorded in his journal, reflecting on the Apple and what its ultimate purpose might be; and also on the connection that Alnesr seemed to have to it.

 

Closing his journal and tidying his desk, Altaïr carefully tucked the Apple away where it wouldn’t be easily found by someone searching his room. A knock at his cabin’s door drew his attention before he could begin to settle down in earnest, and Altaïr made his way over calmly. Alnesr’s familiar, pale yellow eyes shown in the darkness when he opened the door, and he gestured for the younger Assassin to enter when Alnesr paused at the threshold.

 

“Altaïr,” the younger said, hesitating for a moment as though he was unsure if he would be permitted to speak, but _only_ for that single moment. “What was the expression on your face when you subdued that Templar woman?”

 

“Maria,” he mused, not caring for a moment that he had spoken the name aloud and hence was likely to be questioned for it. “In her way, she reminded me of one of our brother Assassins; she has conviction and dedication, and while I cannot but disapprove of the cause she serves, I fully admire those traits in anyone.”

 

“I suppose you would know her better than I,” Alnesr said, still seeming rather bemused; Altaïr could not find it in himself to rebuke the younger Assassin, since he himself found his actions bemusing.

 

“Get some sleep,” he advised, once it had become clear that Alnesr had run out of words to say. “Best we both be rested when we arrive in Cyprus.”

 

“Of course, Altaïr,” his brother Assassin said, sounding for a moment as uncertain as he had when the two of them had stood together in the Temple Mount.

 

Reaching out to clasp his brother Assassin’s shoulders, Altaïr smiled calmly. “It is nothing against you to have been taken aback by this. In truth, I myself hardly know what my heart wills in this instance.”

 

“Few enough of us do, I suppose,” Alnesr said, seeming to compose himself, his bemused expression softening.

 

Chuckling softly in response, Altaïr bid the younger Assassin good night, and returned to his quarters to prepare himself for sleep.


	80. Slave and master

When they arrived upon the docks at Limassol, Alnesr saw that the place was indeed swarming with Templars; hurrying from place to place, watched by a resentful but clearly cowed populace. It was clear that he and Altaïr would need to search diligently if they were to meet up with the resistance that had doubtless formed in response to the oppression that the Templars put in place in every area where they had come to power. Steeling himself for what was to come, Alnesr made his way back into the ship to rejoin his brother Assassin.

 

Making his report in low tones, low enough so that the Templar woman Maria would not be able to overhear them without making her attempts to do so more than obvious, Alnesr paused to await further instructions, and found himself sent to fetch ropes to bind Maria’s hands. Leaving to do just that, Alnesr returned to find that the woman had been stripped of anything that would have identified her as a Templar. Handing over the ropes he had been sent to fetch, Alnesr found the eyes of the Templar woman boring into him.

 

“What are _you_ looking at, boy?”

 

“A captive,” he said, in response to the scorn he could see in every line of her face.

 

She scoffed. “I suppose your mother wouldn’t have had time to teach you manners, considering how long you’ve clearly been staying with this oaf.”

 

“Oaf indeed,” Altaïr chuckled. “Alnesr, stay close when we leave the ship,” his brother Assassin said, turning his attention slightly away from his binding of the Templar woman’s hands. “It may be that we will both need each other’s aid before this day ends.”

 

“I expect you have the right of it again, Altaïr,” he said, as the Templar woman scoffed.

 

She grumbled at the pair of them as they hustled her out of the ship, and Alnesr was wary as he took his first steps out onto the docks of Limassol. They were beginning to clear of citizens as the sun sank, but the Templar presence was actually _increasing_. It was not a situation he was overly fond of, but he was not such a one to complain about things that could not be changed. Or, as in the case of the Templars, things he himself would be working to change.

 

They disembarked from the ship and made their way down the docks, Alnesr moving to stand opposite the Templar woman as she grumbled and swore at the pair of them. She truly _was_ beginning to remind him of the few sister Assassins that he had met during the course of his life; of course, such a thing was not an entirely welcome prospect, as none of his sister Assassins would have been slow to resist their captors, either.

 

“What if I just started screaming?” the Templar woman asked, the annoyance in her tone bringing a perversely sort of amused cast to Altaïr’s face; Alnesr could see it out of the corner of his right eye.

 

“People would cover their ears and carry on,” Altaïr said, amusement suffusing his brother Assassin’s tone. “They’ve seen an unhappy slave before.”

 

Alnesr knew, however, that beneath his play at mere amusement Altaïr was just as aware or the severity of their situation as he himself was. For there were too few people about in the streets, even with the hour becoming as late as it was, and as their group passed into the back streets of the city, Alnesr saw that the emptiness truly could not have been mere an artifact of the late hour at the docks. Else the three of them would have glimpsed more people walking the main roads when they caught sight of them through the maze of buildings.

 

It was not long after that, however, that Alnesr caught sight of another man coming their way, and another beside him.

 

“This port is off-limits,” the man at the forefront said, coming over to where the three of them stood. “Show your faces, strangers.”

 

“There is no one under these hoods we wear but a pair of faceless Assassins,” Altaïr said, sounding amused at the men that were standing before them.

 

Watching as Altaïr and this new man, apparently the Alexander that the two of them had come to this place to meet, spoke of what they had come to this place for and just why it was that the woman Maria was with them, Alnesr made a point to keep his eyes upon the woman so that he would be aware of any action she might think to take against them and their allies. The five of them continued on their way through the city, passing beyond the port and out of sight of the boats that had been moored there, walking at a steady pace so as not to draw attention to themselves from what Templars might have patrolling the city at this late hour.

 

Looking up, Alnesr saw that their small group was steadily coming closer to a large, old-looking warehouse at the far edge of the city they had arrived in. He suspected that this was to be where they would be staying for the duration of their mission to deal with the remaining Templars who had fled to this place, and as they all made their way inside, he found that he was perfectly right. While Altaïr checked the ropes that bound the Templar woman’s wrists, Alnesr himself watched for anyone who might have chanced to come close enough to catch a glimpse of the pair of them while they were gathered there.

 

He did not see anyone, and while he was pleased to note such a thing, Alnesr could not help but to wonder how long it was going to be before they encountered more of the Templar’s forces.

 

Following closely behind Altaïr as the two of them made their way inside, Alnesr tensed slightly as Maria’s eyes passed over him. He did not know, precisely, what it was that the Templar woman was planning, but there was no way that he could mistake someone who had a plan for escape when he looked in their eyes. He’d not be able to make proper contact with Altaïr until the pair of them had been settled within the warehouse and had a chance to get away from the Templar woman.

 

Altaïr led Maria into the warehouse, and he followed his brother Assassin into the warehouse where the pair of them would be staying.


	81. Assassins’ captive

“I won’t assume you’re here out of charity,” Alexander said, as the two of them settled themselves down at the small table in what seemed to be a living area within the safehouse that the man had spoken to them of. “Can I ask you what your purpose here is, Altaïr?”

 

“It’s a complicated story,” Altaïr said, though he seemed rather impatient to leave. “But, it can be summed up easily: the Templars have access to knowledge and weapons far more deadly than anyone could have imagined. I plan to change this. One such weapon is already in our hands: a device with the ability to warp the minds of men. If the Templars possess more like it, I want to know.”

 

“And we can _certainly_ trust the Assassins to put the Apple of Eden to better use,” the Templar woman, Maria, piped up with a cutting tone.

 

“Where are the Templars holed up now?” Altaïr asked, seemingly uncaring of the fact that Maria had spoken in the first place.

 

“In Limassol Castle, but they’re expanding their reach,” Alexander responded easily, though he sounded increasingly grim.

 

It wasn’t a thing Alnesr found himself wondering about; the reasons for the man’s feeling on the matter were obvious.

 

“How, then, do I get inside?” Altaïr asked.

 

Alnesr listened as Alexander laid out what information he had about Osman, the Templar whose sympathies were more aligned with the Cypriot Resistance than those he purported to serve.

 

“Kill the captain of the guard,” Alexander advised, his eyes dark and solemn. “With him dead, it’s likely that Osman will be promoted to the post. And if that happens, well, you could walk right in.”

 

“Alnesr, I would like you to stay here while I attend to this matter,” Altaïr said, pinning him with a determined gaze as he rose from the table. “I don’t wish to take chances with a Templar among us, so I would have you give them your aid if she manages to escape.”

 

“Of course, Altaïr,” he said, not knowing how he felt about being left behind, but pleased all the same to be of use.

 

Altaïr left, to attend to the matter of Osman and the current captain of the Templar guard, and Alnesr himself turned his attention back to Maria where she stood among the members of the Resistance. The Templar woman seemed quite a bit more at ease than she had been before his brother Assassin had departed, perhaps thinking that he himself would not be as capable of combat as Altaïr, ten years his senior. If she was hoping for such a thing to be true, then she would be fully disappointed.

 

He might not have had the full benefit of Altaïr’s twenty-five years of life, but even his own fifteen years of life as an Assassin would tell, in the end.

 

“Well, boy, it seems as though your master had left you to your own devices,” the Templar woman said, looking at him with disdain as the two of them were left to face one another. “How _ever_ shall you cope.”

 

“Yes, it would seem that we will be forced to spend more time in each other’s company,” he returned, narrowing his eyes as he looked the Templar woman over.

 

“What do you even think you could do if I chose to attempt to escape your grasp, _boy_?” she asked, her expression becoming one of clear, arrogant disregard for him.

 

“I would stop you, Templar,” he said, stepping closer to the woman as the two of them faced each other.

 

“Oh?” the Templar woman stepped over to him, using her height in what he could see to be an obvious effort to intimidate him. “How do you think you would manage _that_?”

 

“You should not take me so lightly, Templar,” he said, standing firm in the face of the Templar woman attempting to loom over him. “I am not the helpless child you seem so determined to see me as.”

 

There was a long moment, during which Alnesr was not certain if he and the Templar woman would be forced into combat by their own pride, before she smiled tightly at him.

 

“Fearless little thing, aren’t you,” the woman said, sounding like she could not help but to approve of him, in spite of their respective affiliations. “It’s too bad that you’ve been raised Assassin. We might have done good work in the world.”

 

“I might say the same to you,” he returned, prompting the Templar woman to laugh softly.

 

The two of them fell into a more comfortable silence then, moving back over to the table where he and Altaïr had been sitting while Alexander had been speaking to Altaïr of what he could expect when he sought out the captain of the Templar guard in this area. The two of them settled down at the table together, and some of the Resistance served them food while they waited for Altaïr to return after his work had been completed.

 

Eating the meal that had been served to them, Alnesr heard the sound of someone making their way back into the safehouse, and looked over to the entrance to see that it was indeed Altaïr as he had begun to expect.

 

“Osman is making the arrangements as we speak,” Altaïr announced, as he made his way deeper into the safehouse where the main room where the Resistance were all staying.

 

“Excellent, now what?” Alexander asked, coming over to stand beside the table where he and the Templar woman were seated.

 

“We give him some time,” Altaïr said, then turned his attention to the Templar woman. “He also told me about the Templar archive. Have you heard of such a thing, Maria?”

 

“Of course,” the Templar woman said, sounding as though she was attempting to be deliberately flippant. “That’s where we keep our undergarments.”


	82. Guardian of the Apple

Altaïr sighed, feeling as though he might despair for a moment; tossing those feelings aside, he turned to face Alexander once more. “Cyprus would be a good location to safeguard both armor and weapons. With the proper strategy, it’s an easy island to defend.” He stood, nodding to Alnesr as he did. “Osman will have had time to clear the walls of the castle now. Alnesr, you have done well to guard Maria as well as you have thus far, and so I wish for you to continue.”

 

“As you say then, Altaïr,” Alnesr said, nodding as he rose from his seat so that the two of them could bid each other farewell.

 

He swiftly departed from the safehouse, making his way over the rooftops to Limassol Castle so that he could truly begin his mission to clear the influence of the Templars from this island, so that they could be free once more, and also so that he would be able to find out just what it was that _this_ man knew about the Templar archive that Osman had spoken of. His curiosity had been roused by that, and now Altaïr intended to satisfy it.

 

Or, at the very least, to make an earnest attempt to do so.

 

Stealthily approaching the courtyard of the castle he was making to infiltrate, Altaïr saw that Osman had indeed lowered the number of guards present outside atop the walls of the castle, and those walking the perimeter of the grounds below him. He was pleased to know that he’d not been led astray once more, and so he smiled slightly as he scaled the wall near the ramparts. Felling one of the nearby guards with his throwing knives drew the attention of one who was yet closer, and _that_ one swiftly met his death at Altaïr’s sword.

 

Lowering the dead man to the stone floor of the castle, Altaïr swiftly removed his blade from the man’s back and continued onward. Continuing deeper into the corridors before him, disposing of what guards he needed to as he encountered them, Altaïr allowed himself a soft sigh of relief. Osman truly _had_ done his job better than Altaïr had let himself hope for: not only were there fewer guards patrolling the walls and inside the outer courtyard, but there also seemed to be a distinct absence of the same _within_ the castle, as well.

 

He was pleased to know that he’d not placed his trust mistakenly again.

 

Pushing aside the lingering unease he felt, not quite certain _why_ he felt such a thing but knowing that it would only distract him from the work he was doing, Altaïr continued on his way. Onward and upward he climbed, steadily moving deeper into the castle, until he came to a balcony overlooking an inner-courtyard that was currently being put to use as a training field. For a moment, before he regained his composure, Altaïr was reminded of Masyaf and all of his brother Assassins training there.

 

Then, he caught sight of Fredrick the Red, and such thoughts were wiped clean from his mind; the man was every bit the brute Osman had described him as being. He could hear the Templar commanding his men, and as he watched for an opening that he could use, Altaïr took note of the man’s words. They were nearly the same as those he’d heard from Montferrat’s own mouth, and while he supposed that such a thing was only natural in the case of two such men who seemed so similar, he wondered for a moment if he and his brother Assassins shared such a manner of speaking.

 

Such thoughts lead almost inevitably to curiosity as to how Alnesr himself was fairing, and if he and Maria were getting along at least reasonably well, but Altaïr pushed those thoughts aside and focused his attention on the Templar speaking in the courtyard below him; this was the task he had before him now, so all that remained was to carry it out.

 

_~AC: BL~_

 

When he and the Templar woman had settled back down at the table opposite one another, Alnesr was given only a few minutes to reflect on what his and Altaïr’s task in this place was to be, before a member of the Resistance he’d not had the chance to meet before this moment came running into the room.

 

“Assassin, there are Crusader Knights approaching the safehouse!” the man shouted, tone and manner making his panic all the more plain to any who looked.

 

Alnesr could perfectly understand the temptation to succumb to such feelings, under the circumstances; though he also understood that he could not let himself be among them. “How many? And, how fast do they approach?”

 

“A great number of them,” the man said, and Alnesr noted with pleasure that this new man seemed to be swiftly regaining his composure.

 

“I’ll not be such a fool to think that you had a part in this,” he said, turning to the Templar woman so that she would take his meaning as he spoke. “Even so, it seems that we are discovered, and hence must move quickly. Stay with me; Altaïr gave you into my keeping, and I’ll not disappoint him.”

 

“Yes, I expect you won’t,” the Templar woman said, wearing an enigmatic smile as she came over to stand with him.

 

Putting thoughts about what the woman might have been thinking aside – he’d far more pressing matters to attend to at this of all times – Alnesr turned his attention back to those members of the Resistance whose lives were now in his hands. “All of you, scatter yourselves into the city. Go to another place that you might be safe; any other safehouses that you might know about. Send someone to meet with me or my senior when you feel it is safe to do so.”

 

Alexander and his remaining men all nodded to him, calling out that they would be well and that they would meet him again when they had managed to settle themselves in another one of their hidden strongholds. When the last of them had departed, he reached for the Templar woman, that the two of them might make their own way through the city until the Resistance members sought them out once more, the sudden scent of smoke and fire drew his attention.

 

“Damn! Looks like your companions won’t have _this_ place to come back to anymore,” the Templar woman growled, as the flames licking at the outside of the building began to become visible, eating away at the walls.

 

There was truly no point in allowing himself to become distracted by idle chatter, particularly when there remained a task for him to complete. Something that Altaïr had asked of him, when it had become clear that there was something more to the Apple than the two of them – or, truly, anyone as far Alnesr himself was aware of – had suspected at first. Running over to the sack that Altaïr had so casually dropped upon a crate at the midpoint of what was about to become a _former_ warehouse, Alnesr scooped it up and hurried back over to where the Templar woman was still standing.

 

“I certainly hope that was worth the time you wasted fetching it,” she said, not looking or sounding particularly impressed with his actions of the past few moments.

 

“Can I trust you with this?” he asked in return, narrowing his eyes slightly as he continued to watch the Templar woman now walking beside him.

 

“Trust?” she laughed, though it seemed rather more amused than scornful to his ears. “That’s an odd thing for an Assassin to speak of, boy.”

 

“Why do you say such a thing?” he returned, even as the pair of them ran out from the dangerously burning building that had once been as safe a shelter as could exist on contested ground such as this.

 

They’d no more time for conversation after he spoke those words, however: as soon as they left the temporary shelter of the burning building, the Templar soldiers who’d doubtless been the ones to put the safehouse to the torch in the first place came running out of wherever they had managed to conceal themselves when they had been moving into position.

 

“So, _this_ is what we find when we come hunting for rats,” the man facing them, one who looked about as tall as Alnesr remembered Robert de Sable being, clad in heavy armor, and he even bore more than a superficial resemblance to de Sable, though his face was thinner and his cheeks and eyes more sunken. “A traitor and a child.”

 

“Bouchart,” the Templar woman snapped, narrowing her eyes at him as the two of them faced the leader of the Templars and the men he had brought with him. “I’d wondered when _you_ were going to show your face.”

 

“So, when _did_ you sell yourself to that Assassin?” the Templar; Bouchart, apparently. “And what was your price?”

 

“I’ve nothing to say to _you_ ,” the woman snapped.

 

There were no more words exchanged between them, and Bouchart called for his soldiers to attack them. Alnesr unsheathed the sword he’d been presented with when Altaïr had ascended to the rank of Master of the Syrian Assassins, bringing it up to guard himself as he turned back-to-back with the woman who’d once been part of the Templars. It was clear that the woman was not going to be part of that organization anymore.

 

He wondered just what she would do from now on, without the support of the organization she had been part of for so long, since it was clear that she was not particularly fond of Altaïr and his fellow Assassins. Still, he’d little enough time to think of anything else but the Templars attacking him. It was nearly the same as all of the other times that he’d been forced to face the Templars beside Altaïr.

 

He did not know exactly how he and this woman would be able to work with each other, but for the first few moments of the fight, the two of them were able to hold off the forces of the Templars attacking them. Then, though some kind of terrible serendipity, one of their attackers managed to slash the back of his left hand and cause him to drop the sack that contained the Apple, the artifact clattering to the ground and rolling slightly. The eye of every Templar around them turned toward the sack that had formerly been clenched in his left hand.

 

The entire group of Templars attempted to dive for the pile of cloth that had formerly concealed the Apple that Altaïr had been so interested in for so long. Alnesr attempted to drive them off as well as he could manage, but Bouchart managed to lay his hands to the artifact before he could do the same, and then all Alnesr could see was the bright, white light…

 

_“Welcome back, Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr.”_


	83. Guard and Vessel

When she saw the brilliant flash of colorless light from just behind her, Maria turned to see just what in the world had happened, and saw the large, broad-shouldered form of Armand Bouchart standing over the smaller form of the little Assassin whose name she couldn’t remember at the moment. She knew that the boy had one, since everyone who hadn’t been raised by _particularly_ strange people had one, but at the moment it had slipped from her mind while the two of them had been fighting the Templars who had attacked them.

 

Turning, to see the boy standing idle before Bouchart as the old Templar reached out for him, Maria narrowed her eyes.

 

“Move, you fool boy!” she shouted, leaping over to cover the child so he wouldn’t be cut down for his lapse.

 

Bouchart grabbed for the boy’s shoulders, pulling him close without the boy seeming to have the mind to resist him, but when he turned the boy around she saw his eyes. His eyes were no longer the strange, pale yellow that they had once been, instead they glowed softly white in the same manner as the Apple was doing even as she watched. Clenching her teeth, Maria raised her sword and attacked Bouchart. The man seemed to think that, as she was a woman, she would be hesitant to attack him while he stood behind a child.

 

Conversely, after having been forced to spend even as little time as she had among the little Assassin and the man he had called his senior, Maria knew that the boy wouldn’t flinch from what she was about to do; in fact, he was more like to welcome it than anything.

 

Thus, when she attacked, Maria managed to catch that old bastard flat-footed, nearly carving a fresh wound in his corpselike face. And, while such a thing would have been rather satisfying – very few of her former fellows had been so willing to accept that she wanted to serve beside them as Robert had – Maria contented herself with forcing him to leap back, dropping the Apple and releasing the boy almost at once. Driving him back with relentless sweeps of her sword, Maria swept up the Apple and grabbed the boy’s robes near his left shoulder to pull him along as she began to run.

 

She did not know just where the pair of them would be able to take shelter from the Templars that were even now hunting them, but at the very least Maria was determined to escape from Bouchart; she’d once thought to tell him and the soldiers he commanded of the things she had been able to see during the time she’d spent in captivity with the Assassin and his fellows, but now… Bouchart could go hang, she would make contact with another, more level-headed Templar.

 

Or, perhaps…

 

Maria threw that thought aside with more force than she’d ever used before, dragging the little Assassin along by the shoulder, searching for a place that she might take shelter in while she determined just what the devil had happened when he’d touched the Apple. She’d never seen anyone react to the artifact in the manner of the little Assassin, but it was also a fact that she had never before seen anyone with the particular hair- and eye-coloring that the boy possessed, either.

 

There could easily be some sort of connection between the two things; in any case, she could find out such when she made it to a place she could shelter from the Bouchart and the remaining Knights he had pursuing her.

 

_~AC: BL~_

 

When he had managed to escape the remaining guards stationed within the castle that had previously sheltered Fredrick the Red, killing those who he could not quite manage to outrun, Altaïr swiftly made his way back over the rooftops toward the safehouse. Finding it in ruins, Altaïr forced himself to regain his composure as he looked down upon the destruction that had been wrought. He knew that Alnesr would have had the sense to leave, and he had to believe that Maria would have done the same under the circumstances.

 

Now, seated high in a tower in the shade of a large bell, Altaïr looked down. There was a great deal more movement in the streets than he’d noticed while he had been making his way back to the safehouse, and Altaïr was curious enough – and without other options at the moment – to follow it back to its source. Sure enough, with the safehouse destroyed, the Templars were mobilizing once more.

 

Drifting up from the crowd, Altaïr heard talk of revenge and reprisals – the townspeople feared them; from the Templars, and also from those they were hunting, while Altaïr found disappointing but unsurprising – and many mentions of the name Armand Bouchart. He’d not heard the name before, but as it seemed that he had just arrived on the island, it was to be expected. It seemed that the man was already forming a reputation as fearsome, unjust, and cruel; even if he’d _not_ been a Templar, Altaïr would have felt compelled to deal with him.

 

If only to ensure than no others suffered under his rule of even an island such as this.

 

He was, at the least, pleased to note that neither Alnesr nor Maria had been captured by these new Templars that he was observing. Bouchart seemed to have some qualities in common with Robert de Sable before him: the two of them both being tall, powerfully-built, and clad in full armor. Bouchart wore no helm at the moment, so Altaïr could see his face rather clearly from the rooftop where he crouched: in stark contrast to de Sable’s strong-featured face, Bouchart had a rather sunken, cadaverous look about him.

 

“A foul murder has shaken my Order,” Bouchart bellowed, in a voice loud enough to command the attention of every citizen in the square, and to carry clearly up to the rooftops, besides. “Dear Fredrick the Red, slain in his very castle. He, who served God and the people of Cyprus with honor, is paid tribute by a murderer’s blade? Who among you will deliver those responsible to me?”

 

Such was always the way, among Templars: always seeking to use the fear of their fellow men against any who might have thought to rise up against their tyranny.

 

“Cowards!” Bouchart roared into the silence. “You leave me no choice but to flush out this killer myself. I hereby grant my men immunity until this investigation is concluded!”

 

“Bouchart,” Osman said, having shifted uncomfortably in the background of the conversation before working up the nerve to speak. “The citizens are already restless,” he looked down into the sea of muttering, shifting citizens. “Perhaps this is not the best idea.”

 

Upon the rooftops, Altaïr winced as Bouchart’s expression twisted in furious rage; it seemed that he, the same as most of his brethren that Altaïr had encountered, was not one accustomed to having his orders questioned. The matter of whether he considered such a thing to be insubordination or not was answered in a particularly final manner when Bouchart drew his sword and plunged it into Osman’s gut. Altaïr sighed in regret as he watched Osman crumple to the ground with a stunned shout that echoed around the square, cradling his stomach and writhing on the steps as he died.

 

His death rattle echoed across the crowd, shocked silent by the sudden brutality that Bouchart had demonstrated; Altaïr, however, knew that this was rather typical for the leaders of the Templars. Still, seeing another good man dying a needless death saddened him.

 

“If anyone else has objections, I invite you to step forward,” Bouchart said, after having wiped his sword clean on the right arm of Osman’s tunic.

 

Osman’s body shifted slightly, left arm hanging loose over the steps; his sightless eyes stared up at the sky. Needless to say, there were no further objections.

 

_~AC: BL~_

 

Having evaded her pursuers, Maria ducked into another abandoned warehouse, settling down atop a pile of empty crates and pulling the little Assassin over so that she could sit him down on another crate next to the one where she had sat down, herself. She’d seen glimpses of a man in black robes, sometimes standing next to the boy, and at times wrapping his arms possessively around him, for nearly as long as she had held the Apple. Maria wondered who the man was, and if any of those Assassins even knew what they were facing.

 

She also wondered if any of her fellow Templars knew about the man, or the little Assassin that seemed to be so deeply connected to the Apple he haunted.

 

The sound of footsteps on the grounds outside prompted Maria to stand up, pressing the Apple into the little Assassin’s hands, and also prompting the man in black to look over at her with the shadow of an arrogant smile on his lips. Turning away from the man, forced to let go of the Apple and allow the strange man to vanish, Maria turned her gaze to the far side of the room. She darted over to the door, drawing her sword and swinging it down upon… another sword that blocked her own.

 

“Assassin,” she greeted. “So, it seems as though we keep meeting in this manner.”

 

“Indeed, or something close to it,” the Assassin said, looking pleased for a moment, before he glanced over her shoulder and saw the little Assassin sitting on the crate.

 

_~AC: BL~_

 

The sight of Alnesr, once again lost within the light of the Apple, drew his attention before he could say more than a simple greeting to Maria. She seemed to understand, however, and stepped aside so that he could attend to the younger Assassin. Making his way over to where Alnesr had been seated, Altaïr allowed himself a moment of gratitude to Maria for protecting him as she had; he knew, after all, that it would have been so utterly simple for Maria to guide Alnesr into a Templar stronghold while he had been lost within the light of the Apple.

 

He was, and long would be, grateful that she had not chosen to take such an action; not only because Alnesr would likely have died in the hands of the Templars who took him captive, but because of what Maria’s choice might have meant for their future. If she was, in the end, willing to discus such a thing. Altaïr hoped that she would, at the very least, be amenable to a discussion on the matter.

 

For the moment, however, he needed to concentrate if he was to give what aid Alnesr would need to free himself from the Apple’s power. Altaïr wondered once again just how the connection was that Alnesr had with the Piece of Eden had been forged, and what its nature truly was. He also wondered about the man in black robes that he’d so briefly glimpsed when he and Alnesr had both maintained contact with the Apple itself; he wondered if, in some strange way, Al Mualim _had_ been able to survive the destruction of his body.

 

If the Templar who had deceived the Brotherhood for so long had _willingly_ abandoned his body for the shelter of the Apple, and was now attempting to exert his will through Alnesr by proxy.

 

However, when Altaïr drew close enough to lay his own right hand atop the Apple, his first sight of the man in black robes – arms wrapped around Alnesr’s neck in a particularly possessive fashion – served to disabuse him of that notion: for one thing, this man was far younger than Al Mualim had been when Altaïr had been forced to take the traitor’s life; his chin smooth and beardless, and both of his eyes bright and clear. The veritable waterfall of hair also gave the lie to the assumption that this man had ever been Al Mualim. However, it was the _color_ of both this man’s hair and eyes that drew Altaïr’s attention more strongly than nearly any other thing other than this strange man’s presence in itself.

 

The man in the black robes had eyes as yellow as Alnesr’s own, and hair that was nearly the same shade of brilliant silver; had their facial features had any commonality to them, aside from the smoothness of youth they both shared, Altaïr might have thought that the man in black was a member of Alnesr’s family. However, before he could consider the matter in any depth, the man in black pushed lightly against Alnesr’s chest, and vanished back into the Apple with only a small, sly smile. Altaïr doubted that such a thing boded well for any of them; Alnesr in particular, of course.

 

“Altaïr?” his brother Assassin asked, holding his head and looking more lost than he had seen the first time he’d broken Alnesr free from the Apple’s grasp. “What… What has _happened_?”

 

“You were nearly lost within the Apple again; I begin to think I should not have left it so close to you, worried though I was about someone finding it on the boat,” he said, reaching out to clasp Alnesr’s right shoulder as he helped his former Apprentice down from the crate where he’d been sitting.

 

“Did you see the man in black, Assassin?” Maria asked, drawing his attention to the fact that she had actually chosen to remain in the room with them, even in spite of the fact that neither of them had acted to bar her way in any manner.

 

“I did,” he replied, as he stepped back to allow Alnesr to stand on his own feet once again.

 

However, it was not Maria but Alnesr himself who continued the conversation from there: “Man in black? What is it that the two of you are speaking of, Altaïr?”

 

“You couldn’t see him, boy?” Maria asked, addressing Alnesr for the first time since the three of them had met up once more.

 

“I’ve no inkling who either of you are talking about,” Alnesr said, sounding as though he wished to come off as stoic, but the uncertainty he was prey to coming through clearly to the one who had known him for nearly all of his life; Altaïr could not fail to see what moved his brother Assassin’s heart. “I’ve not seen a man in black since… Al Mualim,” Alnesr finished, a touch more of his uncertainty showing through.

 

“He seemed far more bound to the Apple than you once were,” he said, as Alnesr looked askance to him.

 

“Yes, but what _I_ would like to know is just how the man came to be bound to the Apple in the first place,” Maria said acerbically. “It hardly strikes me as something an ordinary man could manage.”

 

“No; I would hardly call such a thing ordinary at all,” he said; beyond that, there was also the matter of just what the man’s connection to Alnesr was, because even aside his clear possessiveness of Altaïr’s brother Assassin, the physical similarities could not be ignored.

 

“I suppose I’d need to stay with the pair of you, if I’m to find out anything about that other,” Maria said, sounding as though the very prospect irked her to no end; Altaïr suppressed a smile. “Don’t expect me to betray my Order for this, Assassin. I’m doing this strictly to satisfy my own curiosity; that Apple clearly holds more secrets than any of us know.”

 

“Of course,” he replied, carefully holding himself back from smiling or giving any hint as to how he truly felt about the matter. “We should find the safehouse that the Resistance members relocated themselves to after the fire,” he said, turning his attention to Alnesr and observing the way his brother Assassin seemed to come back to himself in the presence of a task to be completed.


	84. Uncertain salvation

“Yes, I suppose you’d better find out just what the _next_ plan of my Order is, so you can go about foiling it,” Maria said, sounding distinctly unimpressed with the pair of them.

 

If Altaïr had been inclined to think in such a way, he might have considered that she was only saying such a thing to remind herself not to start to like working with either of them; all he did, however, was continue to bite back the smile that he could feel trying to spread across his face at the prospect of spending more time with Maria. Whatever her reasons for wanting to travel with them as she did, Altaïr was determined to make the best of the situation. And, perhaps she would even discover a reason to stay; he held some hope for that, at least.

 

When he and Alnesr ascended back onto the rooftops to make their way to the new safehouse that the Cypriot Resistance maintained, Altaïr heard Maria scoff up at the pair of them as they climbed.

 

“So, this is how you and yours always seem to vanish when we pursue you,” she said acidly. “I wonder how much _this_ new knowledge will get me when I return to my Order.”

 

“I doubt many of them would be able to make use of it,” he volleyed back, allowing himself to smile now that he was not within Maria’s line of sight any longer. “Templars are not truly suited for activities such as this.”

 

“I’ll show _you_ what Templars are suited for,” Maria growled, and Altaïr turned to see her climbing the very wall of the building that he and Alnesr had just crested the top of.

 

She had little of the smooth, easy grace that he’d seen demonstrated by his brother Assassins, but for one who had clearly never climbed in such a manner before, Maria was somewhat skilled in the purely physical aspect of an Assassin’s lifestyle. Signaling Alnesr to wait while Maria clambered to the rooftop to stand beside them, Altaïr suppressed his smile once more as he turned to her.

 

“That was well done,” he said, because it was true and because he was rather pleased with her accomplishment on a more personal level than he knew she would have preferred.

 

“Don’t sound so smug, Assassin,” Maria retorted, narrowing her eyes and raising her chin; he couldn’t help but want to smile in response.

 

Whatever else could be said about the woman, it was clear that she was not one to quail from even a self-imposed challenge.

 

As the three of them made their way over the rooftops on their way to the new safehouse that he had managed to find out about from the members of the Cypriot Resistance, Altaïr took note of Maria’s inexperience with moving as they did, and also of her clear unwillingness to be thought a burden in this or any task she found set before her. It was just one more facet of her character that Altaïr found himself admiring.

 

When they reached the new location of the safehouse, Altaïr watched from the side of his eyes as Maria descended from the rooftops after he and Alnesr had done so. She had a modicum of confidence from being able to follow them as well as she had, something that Altaïr had been pleased to see, as well. Her own return to the ground was somewhat less graceful than either his or Alnesr’s own, but such was only to be expected considering her relative inexperience with moving as an Assassin learned to.

 

Given time, and perhaps the proper motivation, Altaïr rather thought that Maria would make a fine Assassin; it only remained to sway the woman herself to their side. Not an easy prospect, he knew, but Altaïr had determined to do it all the same.

 

Falling into step with Maria and Alnesr as the three of them made for the safehouse before them, Altaïr greeted Alexander calmly as the Resistance leader waved him inside.

 

“I’ve somber news,” he said, once the Cypriot had finished speaking to him of what had occurred in his absence. “Osman is dead, during a demonstration by the Templar Armand Bouchart; he expressed sympathy for the Cypriots, and so Bouchart killed him.”

 

“That is indeed tragic news,” Alexander said, shaking his head sadly. “Still, despite his bravado, Bouchart must have been warned by someone within his forces; my sources tell me that, after destroying our safehouse, he immediately sailed for Kyrenia.”

 

“That’s a shame,” he said, frowning. “I was hoping to meet him. What’s the fastest route there?” he asked.

 

He still planned to meet with the Templar, if only to interrogate him about the Archive, and then to dispose of him so that the people of Cyprus could be free once more. Leaving the safehouse with Alnesr and Maria in tow, though he wouldn’t have said anything of it to Maria herself, Altaïr made for the docks to find a ship. Blending in among the crowds within the city, Altaïr took what chances he could to observe Maria as she kept pace with them.

 

The three of them were able to travel as a monk – Altaïr himself – a Novice studying under his guidance – Alnesr – and his consort, negotiating passage in the hold of a ship so that they would be able to sail to Kyrenia.

 

When the three of them had managed to settle themselves with reasonable comfort down in the hold of the ship, Altaïr carefully swaddled the Apple and bundled it away within a pouch concealed in the folds of his robes. He did not want to chance Alnesr being caught up within its light again, though he was now more curious than ever about the man in black that appeared to have bound himself within the Apple. He’d not risk Alnesr’s safety simply to satisfy his newfound curiosity, of course, but he was at least aware that there was something more he’d been unaware of concerning the Apple.

 

Watching as Alnesr and Maria settled themselves down to sleep after their exertions during the past day, Alnesr beside him and Maria as far from him as she could manage within the bounds of the tale they had crafted, Altaïr took out his journal and began to write:

 

 _I struggle to make sense of the Apple of Eden, its function and purpose, to say nothing of the man shrouded in black that seems to appear and disappear as he pleases from within it._ Here he paused a moment, looking over Alnesr as the younger Assassin slept, arms folded loosely over his chest and hips. _Also, what his connection might be to Alnesr is also a mystery. However, I_ can _say with certainty that its origins are not divine. No; it is a tool, a machine of exquisite precision. What sort of men were they, who brought this marvel into the world? And, what of this man in black, who seems to haunt it?_


	85. Concerning Eagles

At the sound of Maria shifting in her sleep, Altaïr swept the Apple up and concealed it within his robes once again. Closing his journal, Altaïr looked down at Alnesr where he slept, smiling softly as he stood up. Stepping over the sleeping bodies of a pair of crewmembers, Altaïr came over to where she sat, settling down next to her where she leaned up against a stack of wooden crates. As Maria sat up, she tucked her knees up to her chest, clasping her arms around her legs; for a long moment, the two of them simply listened to the creaking and slapping of water against the hull of the ship.

 

“How did you find yourself here?” he asked, turning to look at her even as she looked his way.

 

“Don’t _you_ remember, holy man?” she asked archly, her voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry. “You brought me here; I’m your consort.”

 

“I mean, here in the Holy Land,” he clarified. “Here, in the Crusades.”

 

“I should be at home, with a lap full of crochet, and one eye on the gardener?” she huffed, sounding supremely unimpressed.

 

“Isn’t that what Englishwomen do?”

 

“Well, not _this_ one,” Maria said, raising her chin proudly. “I’m afraid I’m what you’d call the black sheep of my family. Growing up, I always preferred the boys’ games. Dollies weren’t for me, I’m afraid; much to my parents’ continued exasperation. I used to pull their heads off.”

 

“Your parents’?” he asked, smiling slightly.

 

Maria laughed. “My dollies’. Of course, my parents did everything they could to knock the tomboy out of me, and so, for my eighteenth birthday they gave me a special present.”

 

“And, what was that?” he asked, amused by her wit and yet curious as well.

 

“A husband.”

 

“You’re married?”

 

“Was,” she said. “His name was Peter. And he _was_ a lovely man; Peter, just…”

 

“What?” he prompted, as she trailed off.

 

“Well, that was it,” Maria said. “Just lovely. Nothing else; you could say that Peter had hidden shallows.”

 

“So, not much use as a playmate, then,” he said, smiling slightly.

 

“In _no_ sense was Peter much use as a playmate,” she said, sounding supremely unimpressed. “My ideal husband would have embraced those aspects of my character that my parents wanted to excise. We would have gone hunting and hawking together; he would have tutored me in sports and combat, and imbued me with learning. But, he did none of those things, of course. We’d soon enough retired to his family seat – Hallaton Hall in Leicestershire – where, as the lady of the house, I was expected to manage the staff, oversee the running of the household, and of course produce an heir or two. Two boys and a girl, preferably; and in that order,” she smiled, wryly amused, though at what Altaïr was not entirely certain of. “But, of course I failed to live up to his expectations as miserably as he failed to live up to mine. The only thing I cared for less than the hierarchies and politics of the staff was child-rearing, and especially the birth bit that comes beforehand. After four years of prevarication, I left. Fortunately, the Bishop of Leicester was a close, personal friend of the elderly Lord Hallaton, and he was able to grant an annulment rather than risk having this silly, impetuous little girl cause the family further embarrassment,” Maria “harrumphed” softly, though she still seemed rather pleased. “I was, of course, _persona non grata_ at Hallaton Hall; indeed, in the whole of Leicestershire. And, returning home, the situation was no better. Hallaton had demanded his bride-price back, but Father had already spent it. In the end, I decided it was best for everyone if I made myself scarce, so I ran away to the Crusades.”

 

“As a nurse?”

 

She grinned, fierce and proud as he had ever seen her. “No; as a soldier.”

 

“Truly?”

 

“You _have_ seen how adept I am at disguising myself as a man, yes?” she asked, a slight challenge to her tone, but smiling all the same. “Did I have you fooled, that day at the cemetery?”

 

“I knew you weren’t de Sable, but…”

 

“You didn’t anticipate me being a woman,” she said, a pleased cast to her face, as he ran out of words. “You see? Years of being a tomboy paid off.”

 

“And, de Sable? Was _he_ fooled?” he asked, allowing himself to smile; he knew not how she would take it, but this conversation of theirs gave him the hope that they might build a rapport.

 

“I liked Robert, at first,” she said softly, and Altaïr sensed more than saw her rueful smile. “He certainly saw more of my potential than Peter did. But, of course he saw how I might be exploited. And it wasn’t so long before he was doing so,” she sighed, seeming to be reflecting on something. “It was fitting that you killed him. He was not a good man, and never was worthy of whatever feelings I had for him.”

 

“Did he give you that?” he asked, gesturing to the signet ring that glittered upon her right hand.

 

“Yes,” she said, after looking at it for a long moment, the expression on her face suggesting that she had briefly forgotten she had possessed the item at all. “It was a gift from him when he took me under his wing. This is about all I have left of my ties to the Templars, now.”

 

The silence that fell between them was awkward for a moment, before Alnesr inadvertently broke it by moving closer to him. The younger Assassin did not say anything, merely moving closer to Altaïr; he rather thought that Alnesr might have felt the need for reassurance, after the ordeal he had faced twice now. He fully understood; the man in black troubled him as well, and he’d not been taken captive by the man. Even if Alnesr’s mind had been addled by the Apple, Altaïr could fully understand his need for comfort.

 

“Did you study philosophy, Maria?” he asked, after Alnesr had settled himself more comfortably against his right side.

 

“I’ve read scraps, nothing more,” she said, looking at him with a dubious expression.

 

“The philosopher Empedocles preached that all life on Earth began simply, in rudimentary forms: hands without arms, heads without bodies, eyes without faces. He believed that all of these early forms combined, very gradually over time, creating all the variety of life we see before us. Interested?”

 

“Do you know how ludicrous that sounds?” she asked, all but yawning.

 

“I do,” he stated simply, as Alnesr moved slightly closer, mumbling tiredly. “But I take comfort in the words of philosopher Al-Kindi: one must not be afraid of ideas, no matter their source. And we must never fear the truth, even when it pains us.”

 

“I hardly see the point of your ramblings,” she said, with a laugh that sounded warm and sleepy.

 

He looked down to where Alnesr lay, wondering if he had misjudged her, in the end. Perhaps she was not yet prepared to go seeking after the truth, as those who had been raised among the Brotherhood were always prepared to do. However, the clear ringing of a bell in the distance let him know that they had arrived at Kyrenia, and he spared a moment to wake Alnesr, and then the three of them stood.

 

“Only a mind free of impediments is capable of grasping the chaotic beauty of the world,” he said, looking back at her. “This is our greatest asset.”

 

“But, is chaos something to be celebrated?” she asked, and Altaïr smiled to hear the question; it seemed she was, indeed, open to learning more of the world as it truly was. “Is disorder a virtue?”

 

“It presents us with challenges, yes,” he said, knowing that nothing less than the complete truth would satisfy her, and also that he would offer such in any case. “But freedom yields greater rewards than the alternative. The order and peace the Templars seek requires servility and imprisonment.”

 

“Altaïr and I have seen such things firsthand.”

 

Alnesr’s words, true as they were, were _not_ what ultimately drew Altaïr’s attention. No, he was given to notice the words of the two apparent bounty hunters who had specifically mentioned their small group of three as being worth some greater or lesser amount of money. Likely greater, since such was more apt to persuade those kinds of men to ignore the threat posed by an Assassin’s skill and training.

 

Particularly when compared to common cutthroats such as these.

 

Dealing with them did not take particularly long, and Altaïr found himself rather pleased to be able to fight beside Maria and Alnesr both. Though he knew that she would say that such a thing was only so that she could satisfy her stated curiosity about the man in black, Altaïr made up his mind to appreciate the extra time in spite of what Maria would doubtless claim was the cause. As the three of them made their way out of the ship, Altaïr carefully maneuvered himself so that he would be able to watch her as she fought.

 

She _was_ truly skilled with a blade, and though he’d long since known the fact from his previous encounters, Altaïr still found himself pleased to have the opportunity to observe and reconfirm such a fact once more. The three of them worked rather well together, and though such was like as not to be a futile endeavor, Altaïr wished for a moment that he could somehow convince Maria to join her strength to the Brotherhood. She not only had the skill, but more and more it was becoming clear that Maria had the _mind_ for such a life, as well.

 

Resolving once more to speak to Maria in more depth when he could, so that he would be able to find out what it was that she truly wanted out of life, Altaïr allowed himself to breathe more easily as the last of the pirates fell dead to the ground.


	86. Deeper into Kyrenia

“What is your business with us, strangers?” Alnesr asked, and Altaïr made his way over to stand beside his brother Assassin as he questioned the men now standing before them. “Are you Templar spies?”

 

“No, sir,” the man standing at the forefront of the group said, sounding as though he were trying not to stammer fearfully after witnessing the battle that had just taken place. “The pirates attacked, and I had to see if I would be of use. I can’t stand the Templars.”

 

Altaïr smiled, even as Maria scoffed. “I know; you’re not alone,” he said, nodding to the man as he cleaned and the sheathed his sword.

 

“My name is Markos, sirs,” the man said, bowing to the three of them. “I’ll help in any way I can, if it means ridding my country of these Crusaders.”

 

“Then, I’ll need you to keep this woman safe, until my brother and I return,” he said.

 

“ _Safe_?” Maria scoffed. “After all you’ve seen me do, you still think me some fragile flower that needs protecting?”

 

“Far from it,” he said, allowing a small smile to show, before sobering. “But, I would not ask you to walk between your loyalties in such a matter.”

 

Maria smiled thinly. “I wouldn’t have thought you had the honor for that, Assassin. If I’m not careful, I might actually start to admire you.” She barked a roughly amused laugh. “Go on, then. You’ll need a head-start, if you’re to take on my Order.”

 

Altaïr did not know, precisely, how he felt about Maria continuing to describe the Templars as _her_ Order, but given her tone it had almost sounded as though she was doing it to antagonize him to some greater or lesser degree. An odd thing to consider, if such were indeed true, but given all that he had learned of Maria’s character it was starting to seem all the more plausible.

 

He and Alnesr followed Maria and the Resistance members to the safehouse, this one having the outward appearance of a grain silo, so that they would at least know where it was and how best to return to it when they had completed their objective. Meeting up with the leader of this particular cell, a man named Barnabas, he directed Alnesr to take a moment to rest while he spoke to the man.

 

“I’ve been following Armand Bouchart,” he said, as he, Alnesr, and Barnabas all sat together on sacks of grain.

 

“Ah, is Bouchart in Kyrenia?” Barnabas asked. “He’s probably visiting his prisoners in Buffavento.”

 

“Buffavento? Is that a keep?” Alnesr asked, seeming to have had enough rest to at least make himself heard.

 

“A castle, yes,” Barnabas said, his expression questioning when he looked over at the younger Assassin; Altaïr could only be grateful that it was not wary or scornful. “It was once the residence of a wealthy Cypriot noblewoman, until the Templars seized her property.”

 

“Can you take me there?” he asked, frowning at the greed the Templars always seemed to display.

 

“Well, I can do more than that,” Barnabas said. “I can get you inside without the guards batting an eye. But, you must do something for me, first. For the Resistance.”

 

_~AC: BL~_

 

Turning her eyes away from the Assassin who vexed her such a great deal, Maria found herself contemplating the younger Assassin he traveled with.

 

“Tell me, boy: do you truly have no memory of the man in black?

 

“Nothing,” the little Assassin admitted, though Maria took note of the way he waited for the members of this latest group of theirs to pass out of earshot before he did so. “If you wouldn’t find it too much trouble, might you describe him to me?”

 

“He seemed a man in his prime,” she said, observing the hesitant way the little Assassin looked to her; she was starting to think that his stoicism was more a product of his age, rather than the way he had been raised. “I suppose one might call him handsome, but his manner was for too arrogant to persuade any but the most coddled of dullards. Oddly enough, he had your coloring; not only so far as his skin, but even to the hair and eyes.”

 

“What?”

 

“I hadn’t thought to see anyone else with that coloring, but it does indeed seem that you are not so odd as I once thought,” she said, studying the little Assassin as he folded his arms, a thoughtful expression overtaking his face.

 

She did not know just what was in the little Assassin’s mind, but Maria found her own mind turning back to the man in black that had revealed himself to her and that Assassin. She’d not been prepared for such a thing, seeing a phantom in the shape of a man appearing from within the Apple itself. Even the black robes he wore, though she might have dismissed them if another person were to ask her about such, didn’t quite seem normal.

 

They had appeared, during the short time she had been able to see the man clearly, to be made of heavy leather rather than anything approaching normal cloth; the bits of silver around the collar, that seemed not to be a part of the central silver striping, did not seem to be made of any kind of cloth, either. The striping and collar-piece were not the only silver upon the odd leather cloak, but for the life of her Maria could not truly determine what the tassels were for.

 

She supposed that they could have been strictly ornamental, but somehow Maria thought that that was not their true purpose.

 

Still, contemplating the wardrobe of the phantom within the Apple was not truly what she was going to devote her attention to, save to note that the Apple the man inhabited could not be returned to the Templars. Her Order would not hesitate to use the Apple, even with the man who seemed to haunt it, and she was not at all certain that she wanted to see what such a man would be capable of when in contact with her Order.

 

Particularly considering the way he had been able to possess the little Assassin’s mind; she didn’t know if there were others like him among the Templars, but as she’d not had the chance to meet all of them she had no real way of knowing if such was the case, and either way she preferred not to chance it after she had seen the way the little Assassin had reacted. He’d not done anything, aside from being raised the way he was, and Maria held no enmity against the child personally. She also knew that her fellow Templars would not take such a stance in regard to any member of the Assassins, not even a child.

 

It was another reason that she was not at all eager to reveal the little Assassin and his circumstances to them.

 

Still, during the time that the two of them had spent together before being forced to confront Bouchart and the fools working for him, Maria had become rather curious about the boy and just how he had come to live under the command of the elder Assassin. Turning back to the boy, Maria waited for him to settle back down on the bench beside her, before turning to him.

 

_~AC: BL~_

 

Making his way back into the safehouse that the Cypriot Resistance maintained, Altaïr made for the bench where he could see that Alnesr and Maria had sat down beside one another.

 

“Well, it seems as though there’s a hefty price on all our heads,” he said, as he came within earshot of the pair of them; he wondered just what the two of them had found to speak of, but he was not particularly concerned with such a thing as yet.

 

Perhaps he would ask Alnesr later.

 

“A _price_?” Maria demanded, sounding distinctly annoyed by the prospect. “Goddamn Bouchart. He probably thinks I took this one’s place as your apprentice,” she made an annoyed gesture in Alnesr’s direction.

 

“Someone called the Bull has dispatched his men to search for us,” he informed her, raising his eyebrows as she cursed harshly.

 

“The Bull? So they gave that _zealot_ his own parish.”

 

“I take it he is no friend of yours,” he stated, wondering how she knew the man – had he worked closely with de Sable, or had Maria not stayed close to his side at all times – though he doubted he would learn such a thing easily.

 

“Hardly,” Maria scoffed. “His name is Moloch; a pious blowhard with arms like tree trunks.”

 

Turning at the sound of another approaching, Altaïr found that Markos was the one making his way over to where the three of them all sat on the bench that Maria and Alnesr seemed to have claimed for themselves.

 

“Do you know the Resistance safehouse in the Commons?” he asked the man.

 

“I know where it is, but I’ve never been there before,” the Cypriot said. “I’m just a foot soldier for the Resistance.”

 

“Alnesr and I will be able to make it there on our own, but would you escort Maria?” he asked. “All other considerations aside, the three of us should not be seen in each other’s company,” he continued, turning his gaze to Alnesr so that his brother Assassin would understand the true import of his words.

 

“I know some back-alleys and tunnels,” Markos said, looking around as he, Alnesr, and Maria all stood up to leave. “It may take some time, but we’ll get there in one piece.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, nodding to Markos and Maria both, as he and Alnesr turned to take their own leave of this safehouse.


	87. City hunters

As he and his brother Assassin split from one another so that they would not be so easily discovered while they traversed the rooftops of the city, Altaïr reflected upon all the turns his life had taken lately. He would have never thought to be the Master of the Syrian Brotherhood, much less that Al Mualim would betray everything the Brotherhood stood for merely by gaining the Apple. He wondered, for a moment, if even such as that had been due to the influence of the man in black.

 

But no; everything that Al Mualim had done had seemed to stem from something within the man himself.

 

As he came within sight of the other safehouse that the Cypriot Resistance maintained, this one closer to the new location where he would need to be. Alnesr nodded to him as he approached from another direction, somewhere between perpendicular and parallel, and the two of them made their way back down to the ground and from there into the new safehouse that the Resistance maintained. He found Barnabas at the back of the room, lounging on sacks of grain that had been seemingly laid out for just that purpose, the man roused himself as though from slumber, shifting and stifling a yawn.

 

“I just got word that someone found poor Jonas’ body,” he said with a sneer in his voice. “What a waste, eh?”

 

As the Cypriot brushed grain from his robes, Altaïr forced himself to regain his composure. He might have been forced to work with this man by sheer necessity, but he was not fond of him on any real level. He took no pleasure in the death of others, but Barnabas seemed to be one of those that did. Altaïr held no love for those kind.

 

“You knew him better than I,” he said. “I’m certain he knew the risks of attempting to play both sides.”

 

“Yes,” Barnabas continued. “Unfortunately, this has complicated things. Jonas was a respected Cypriot, and his death has sparked riots near the Old Church. The public is hungry for revenge, and the Bull will tell them you were responsible. You may lose the support of the Resistance.”

 

“But, Jonas was a traitor to the Resistance,” he said; the nagging instinct that he’d ignored before, to his own detriment when he’d been forced to kill Al Mualim in defense of the Brotherhood and the world that they protected, became all the louder and more urgent. “Did they not know that?”

 

“Not enough of them, I’m afraid,” Barnabas said; Altaïr tried not to appear to be observing him _too_ closely. “The Resistance is quite scattered.”

 

“Well, you’ll have the chance to tell them yourself,” he said, wondering just what Barnabas would say to that. “Some men are on their way here now.”

 

“You’re bringing more people here? People you can trust?” Barnabas asked, his tone and expression both concerned.

 

“It’s worth the risk,” he said, resolving to speak to Alnesr about his misgivings during this next task that lay before them. “Right now, I need to see these riots for myself.”

 

“And, per our bargain, I’ll see what I can do about getting you close to Bouchart. A deal’s a deal, after all.”

 

Even as Barnabas tried to smile at him in a way he seemed to mean to be comforting, Altaïr found that he still did not trust the man’s motives. There was simply something in his manner that rung as false. Standing and beginning to make his way out of the safehouse, Altaïr nodded to Alnesr as the two of them began to scale the wall of the building nearest to them.

 

Standing atop the rooftop for a few moments, he briefly discussed his plans with his brother Assassin, and the two of them parted company so that they would not be so easily spotted while there was a price on both their heads. Moving over the rooftops once more, Altaïr made his way steadily toward the destination, bent on observing the goings on there.

 

The church was the sight of more unrest than Altaïr had yet witnessed, with the notable exception of the time directly following his confrontation with Al Mualim. Altaïr narrowed his eyes, watching as Templar soldiers and guards cordoned off the marauding citizens that had already done so much damage to their surroundings. He could see smashed, overturned, and broken carts, crates, and barrels littering the streets, and the sounds of an angry crowd below. He’d heard such before, yes, and even been the cause of such a thing, but he’d no more love for it than the first time.

 

Alnesr joined him, and after a few moments more of watching the crowd from their perch – moments during which Altaïr decided that he and Alnesr would have to deal with the Bull if they were to restore peace to this region – he and Alnesr swiftly departed. Cursing himself, even as he paced Alnesr back to the new safehouse that the Resistance had established, Altaïr wondered, not for the first time, if he had allowed himself to be used for another task that he would not have performed if he had simply paused to think about who it was who had given it to him. And yes, he remembered that Al Mualim had once been the Master of the Syrian Brotherhood, and so he might be forgiven by another for not questioning him in that instance.

 

Still, he would be a long time forgiving _himself_ for his own foolishness.

 

When he and Alnesr descended back to the street before the new safehouse, and from their making their way inside again, he searched in vain for Barnabas. Alnesr was the one who thought to seek out Markos and Maria, while Altaïr mastered himself and awaited them. They’d not met up with Barnabas on their travels, and that was simply more proof of Altaïr’s own foolishness in his eyes. He’d not listened, and he’d not questioned, and now a man who likely did not need to die had paid for such a thing with his life.

 

“Alnesr, could I speak with you a moment?”

 

“Of course, brother,” the younger Assassin said, following in his wake as Altaïr made his way to a secluded section of the safehouse.

 

“I fear I have allowed myself to become complacent,” he said, once the pair of them had passed beyond the hearing of any of the other Resistance members.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I had no love for Barnabas; he seemed a man too taken with what power he held here, and yet I allowed myself to believe that he’d been appointed as leader by the Resistance here,” he said, knowing that Alnesr had lived with him long enough to parse his words if he was not being entirely clear in his phrasing. “Still, I allowed myself to ignore what misgivings I had about him, and now I fear that an innocent man has died for it.”

 

“I am sorry to hear that, Altaïr,” his brother Assassin said.

 

There was no recrimination in Alnesr’s tone, but for a moment Altaïr almost wished there would be.

 

“Come, we should find what it is we’re to do next,” he said, mastering himself once more; it was foolish to think that Alnesr would denounce him for a single mistake after the two of them had lived and worked together for so long.

 

“What’s going on out there?” Markos demanded, once he and Alnesr had sought the man out again. “The city is in turmoil; I’ve seen riots!”

 

“The people are protesting the death of a citizen; a man named Jonas,” he said. “Have you heard of him?”

 

“My father knew him well,” Markos said, sounding stricken. “He was a good man. How did he die?”

 

“Bravely,” he said, forcing himself to look into Markos’ eyes even in spite of the way he felt his heart sinking ever lower. “Listen, Markos: things have become complicated; before I find Bouchart, I need to eliminate the Bull and put an end to his violence.”

 

“You’ve quite the taste for chaos, Altaïr,” Maria said sardonically; even in spite of her tone, Altaïr liked the sound of his name on her lips.

 

“The Bull is one man responsible for the subjugation of thousands,” he said, attempting not to smile. “Few will mourn his loss.”

 

She shifted slightly, a subtle expression of what Altaïr thought might have been approval in her eyes. “And, what? You propose to simply fly into Kantara, sting him, and exit unnoticed? The man surrounds himself with devoted worshippers.”

 

“Kantara,” he echoed, knowing the place that she spoke of but still wanting to be reminded; this was the first time he’d brought Alnesr with him to Cyprus, after all. “That’s to the east, yes?”

 

“Yes,” she said, giving him a sidelong look that he could not quite interpret. “It’s the most well-defended,” she smiled thinly. “Never mind; you’ll both see for yourselves.”

 

“I trust we will,” he said, smiling in gentle amusement at her continued defiance in even the smallest matters; she may have stated that it was simply curiosity that bound them together, and so far as he could see that was that _she_ wished to believe such was the case, but for his part Altaïr hoped… well, such was not important at the moment. “Come, Alnesr; we’ve work to do.”

 

“Of course, Altaïr.”


	88. Moloch

The pair of them swiftly departed, making their way back up the side of another building, and off to the east to make their preliminary foray into Kantara Castle, so that they would be able to determine the best rout in and out. And so that they would be able to determine the best time to deal with the man at last. Parting company with Alnesr, so that the two of them would be less easily spotted by the mercenaries that would flock to the bounty that Bouchart had put on their heads, Altaïr continued east toward Kantara Castle.

 

Over the heads of people who didn’t have the time to look up, those whose lives the Assassins sought to protect even though none of them – or at least a select few – would ever truly come to understand the lives of sacrifice that each and every one of the Assassins lived, those who lived the lives that those of the Brotherhood would never have the chance to experience. Forcing his thoughts away from the melancholy path that they had taken, Altaïr mastered himself once more and continued to move on.

 

His first sight of Kantara Castle was the walls; walls patrolled by Crusader soldiers, over an expanse of fanatical zealots that Maria’s description had not truly done justice to.

 

The Bull was _not_ a Templar, as it turned out; he was a fanatic who used them as they used him in turn, with an army of followers that he used as personal guard, or as those who acted to spread his word, or as servants within his castle. He was nearly as devoted to Bouchart as he was to his religious principles, and the castle he lived in was presumably gifted to him by Bouchart himself; or else by the Templars as a whole. Altaïr also found that the man was most often seen worshipping within the Castle’s church.

 

As he and Alnesr rejoined each other on a clear patch of wall, he nodded to his brother Assassin as the two of them stepped down into the castle, the pair of them discussed what it was that they had seen on their separate journeys.

 

Making their way further into the castle, the two of them were often forced to pause in shadowed alcoves to evade the gazes of the fanatics that served within the castle in one capacity or another. They were clearly held in contempt by the Templar guards that patrolled within the castle, if the snatches of conversation that he overheard while he had been making his way deeper inside were anything to go by. Still, the Templars seemed to want to use him in the same way that they wished to use everyone else that happened to fall into their path.

 

Maria had said that the castle was well-defended, and it seemed as though she’d not spoken idly. Of course, it only meant anything if one was to attempt to besiege it with an army, but such defenses would and did mean nothing to a pair of Assassins entering the castle by stealth and secret ways. Particularly when those two brother Assassins had such a great deal of experience in doing such.

 

The pair of them made their way into a vast banqueting hall, and found two guards standing at the opposite end. He took a throwing knife, and saw Alnesr doing the same just beside him, and the two of them loosed them into the standing forms of the guards. Altaïr knew that they were close now, that they would soon be able to put an end to the Bull and his tyranny.

 

Making his way into what seemed to be a dead end, Altaïr paused to check behind them, and out of the corner of his left eye he saw Alnesr crouching to study the ground beneath them. His brother Assassin called softly to him just as he was turning to look back, and Altaïr looked down to see the trapdoor that those men had clearly been standing guard over. The pair of them paused to listen to the deep voice of a man speaking.

 

He shared a smile with Alnesr; it seemed that they had managed to find the Bull at last.

 

“I will make the first advance,” he said. “Wait until I call upon you.”

 

“Of course, Altaïr,” his brother Assassin said. “Good hunting.”

 

“Thank you, brother.”

 

The pair of them descended through the opened trapdoor onto the rafters of the church within Kantara Castle, and there they found an empty room lit by the flickering illumination of a large brazier upon the altar. And there, kneeling before the altar, was the Bull himself; Moloch, as Maria had called him. Her description of him, while it _had_ had a certain paucity of words, did him a great deal of justice: bare-headed, with a drooping mustache, bare-chested apart from a medallion he wore.

 

His tree-trunk arms, wide chest, and bare head all glistened with sweat as he stoked the fire, chanting some incantation that resembled a growl just as much as it did the pious devotion that he clearly meant it to.

 

His attention was clearly absorbed by whatever rituals he was attending to during the course of his worship, and Altaïr smiled thinly to see it. The man was clearly powerful, and if he was even half as strong as he looked this would be a difficult battle even _with_ Alnesr’s aid. Not only was the man large and powerful-looking, but he was said to use a weapon like a meteor hammer, and that he wielded it with ruthless and deadly accuracy.

 

He’d even less desire to fight this man now that he’d seen him than when he’d merely been listening to Maria as she described him, and he was all the more pleased to know that this was to be a stealth kill; clean, quick, and silent.

 

Making his way with the silent grace that he had learned at the feet of some of the greatest within the Syrian Brotherhood, and then passed on in his own time, Altaïr dropped lightly into the room behind Moloch. He found, however, that he’d landed slightly farther back than he’d planned, and held himself quiet and still, hoping that the Bull had not heard him as he landed. However, it seemed that the brute of a man had not been made aware of his presence; rather, he was still engaged with the brazier and his pieties.

 

Moving steadily forward, Altaïr forced himself not to look up to the rafters where Alnesr was watching, both so that his brother Assassin would not think that he was in need of aid, and so that the Bull would not have cause to do the same. As silently as he could manage, Altaïr engaged his hidden blade and raised it. The flickering light from the brazier reflected on the polished steel, glittering along the sharpened edges as he brought it to bear as he crouched and prepared to leap upon the unsuspecting brute.

 

He was in midair, just beginning to fall from the apex of his leap, when the Bull spun with deceptive quickness for a man of his great size, and Altaïr quickly found himself trapped within the circle of those tree-trunk arms. Before the Bull could make any other moves, however, one of Alnesr’s throwing knives imbedded itself deep in the meat of his left shoulder. Altaïr braced himself, landing back on his feet as the Bull stumbled back in pain, and leaped back from the huge man’s reach so that Alnesr could rain throwing knives down upon him.

 

Breathing more easily for the reprieve he had been given, Altaïr unsheathed his sword and charged forward to ram it deep between the brute’s ribs, deep into his heart.

 

His sword stuck fast, forcing Altaïr to place his right foot on the corpse so that he could wrestle it free while thick, syrupy blood spilled over the flagstones that he stood upon. Finally managing to free his sword from the corpse at his feet, Altaïr cleaned the weapon and then sheathed it once more, breathing more easily as he ascended back up into the rafters where Alnesr was still waiting for him.

 

“That was not precisely what I had planned, but I do thank you for your aid, brother,” he said, crouching down next to the younger Assassin.

 

“I had hoped that you’d not need to face such an opponent,” Alnesr said, looking from him down to the corpse of the Bull. “Still, I _am_ pleased that I could be of some aid to you, Altaïr.”


	89. Disappearance

Smiling back at his brother Assassin as the two of them made their way out of Kantara Castle, Altaïr wiped the last traces of emotion from his face as he continued on his way back out. Making his way out to the high walls of the castle, between the patrols of the Templar guards and the servants that paced the length of those walls, Altaïr descended lightly down to the ground, and then made his way back up onto a nearby building to the west.

 

As he continued on his way over the rooftops and alleys that stood between Kantara Castle and the safehouse that their group had moved to once he and Alnesr had arrived in the Commons within Kyrenia, Altaïr wondered just what he would find when he arrived once again. Barnabas was clearly not to be trusted, but he was also beginning to wonder about the _other_ members of the Resistance that he had had dealings with. Markos had seemed trustworthy, yes, but it could also be that he was better at not speaking what he felt than Barnabas had ever been.

 

It was not a thought that Altaïr relished entertaining, but he would do such all the same; such a thing was his duty to the Brotherhood as a whole since he had become the Master.

 

Coming into sight of the part of the city that the safehouse within the Commons had once stood within, Altaïr found himself being confronted by Maria on the very rooftop where he and Alnesr had met up once again.

 

“We always seem to be meeting up this way, Assassin,” Maria said, her tone carrying more than a hint of sardonic amusement.

 

“What has happened?” he asked, looking from Maria to what he could see of the safehouse in the distance.

 

“Crusader soldiers working for Bouchart attacked just after the pair of you had left,” Maria said, quickly sobering after her earlier amusement. “A great deal of your compatriots in the resistance were taken prisoner, though some managed to escape. You might even be pleased to know that the one you were speaking to – his name was Markos, yes? – was among those who managed to hide himself when the Templars made their move.”

 

“Thank you for informing me of this, Maria,” he said, subtly bowing his head in gratitude for what she had offered to him.

 

Even though she would likely still continue to insist that she was present solely to assuage her own curiosity about the man in black, and though she still gave every indication of merely tolerating his presence for her own ends, Altaïr still found himself nurturing the hope that the two of them could perhaps come to see eye-to-eye one day.

 

“The question remains, Assassin: what do you intend to do about this?”

 

“I will speak to Markos, find out what he knows about this matter, and from there I will make further plans,” he said, turning to look at Maria more squarely when she scoffed.

 

“Do _all_ your plans come to this, Assassin, or am I merely present on a special occasion?”

 

Turning away, a slight smile on his face, Altaïr descended back to the ground and made his way into the abandoned safehouse.

 

“Markos?” he called, pitching his voice to carry but remaining alert in case there were any Templar soldiers that had remained behind.

 

“I wanted to stop them, but I had to hide,” the Cypriot said, looking more than a little shame-faced. “There were just too many.”

 

“This was not your fault,” he said, after a moment’s pause; he may not have truly known who it was that he could trust, after Barnabas had revealed himself as a traitor, but that was no reason to go needlessly antagonizing those who might still be his allies. “The Templars are crafty.”

 

“I’ve heard they harness the power of a Dark Oracle in Buffavento,” Markos said. “That must be how they found us.”

 

He did not know if such a thing could be true, but after all he had seen of the power of the Apple and the man in black that haunted it, he was more willing than he would have been otherwise. Still, he rather suspected that such an advantage as the Templars had demonstrated here in Cyprus had a great deal more to do with the fact that the Resistance had been infiltrated by Templar spies rather than any kind of Oracle.

 

“That is a curious theory,” he allowed. “However, I expect it was Barnabas who tipped them off, in the end.”

 

“Barnabas?” Markos echoed, sounding more surprised than Altaïr could account for. “How can that be? The Resistance leader Barnabas was executed the day before you and yours arrived.”

 

Altaïr cursed himself for allowing himself to be duped yet again by those who held allegiance to the Templars. Jonas had not deserved to die for his mistakes.

 

“I will see to rescuing the prisoners that were taken from you,” he said, knowing that it was the least he could do in recompense for the foolish actions that he had taken earlier. “Will you be able to find another place to stay?”

 

“We will be able to take shelter in another of our safehouses,” Markos said, nodding. “I thank you again for your offer of aid.”

 

“Of course,” he said, nodding and leaving the safehouse once more.


	90. Into the castle

Ascending to the rooftops once more, Altaïr alighted and found himself facing Alnesr and Maria. The two of them had seemed to be speaking of some matter or other, but when he came to them they stopped.

 

“What news, Altaïr?” Alnesr asked, sounding more comfortable than he had for some time; Altaïr was pleased by it, yes, but for a moment he wondered at the cause of such a thing. “What are we to do next?”

 

“The Templars have taken the prisoners from the Resistance into the harbor district,” he said, stepping closer to Alnesr as Maria stepped back from the pair of them. “I would like your aid to free them, even though I fear that it might be more difficult to keep them that way.”

 

Alnesr seemed for a moment as though he wished to ask further on that matter, but held himself back after only a moment’s thought. Altaïr was pleased to see such discretion, for he’d no wish to force Maria to choose purely because of circumstance. The two of them bid Maria farewell – Altaïr was almost surprised to hear Alnesr add his own voice, but then recalled how long he and Maria had had to become acquainted – and departed for the Harbor District of Kyrenia. The pair of them swept over the rooftops and across the alleys that separated them from the harbors, and soon enough Altaïr found that he could smell the sea.

 

The pair of them were soon able to discern just where it was that the prisoners taken from the Resistance had been taken: each of them had been thrown into a cell that was just as small and filthy as the cells that he had witnessed Talal the slaver using. He was not pleased with the reminder, and hence all the more eager to see these Templars dealt with in the most final of ways. Nodding to Alnesr, the two of them leaped back down to the ground.

 

Together, though each of them had taken a different angle of approach to the Templars guarding their allies in the Resistance, he and Alnesr each carved their way through the Templars that had been keeping the Resistance members prisoner. Stepping up to the cell while Alnesr stood guard, Altaïr swiftly unlocked it and received the thanks of those who had been trapped there. Breathing more easily once they were free once more, Altaïr turned to his brother Assassin.

 

“We should make for Buffavento castle now,” he said, watching as Alnesr nodded silently. “To see if we might put an end to Bouchart at last.”

 

“Yes; I would have suggested it myself, if you hadn’t spoken, Altaïr.”

 

“I am glad to see you gaining more confidence, Alnesr,” he said, smiling slightly. “Come.”

 

The pair of them swiftly departed from Kyrenia’s harbors, leaving behind the scents of sea and ships, and the creaking of wood and slapping of waves; heading now for Buffavento castle.

 

After some time, Altaïr found himself facing the imposing façade of a castle that seemed just that much larger than Kantara. He did not know if such a thing were indeed true, but as Alnesr joined him and the pair of them began to make their way into Buffavento by secret ways that the Templars who guarded it would not be able to track, Altaïr forced his thoughts to turn to other paths.

 

He did not truly know if the Templars had an oracle they could call upon in times of need, or if they were simply resorting to the methods of offering coin or intimidation that had served them in the past, but whatever their present methods, Altaïr was determined to see them stopped.

 

As he and Alnesr descended still farther and deeper into the bowels of Buffavento castle, Altaïr took care to observe his surroundings in depth, in case there were more Templar guards lying in wait. As before in Kantara, he and Alnesr were able to make their way into the castle with the careful combination of stealth and assassination that had brought them into so many of the Templars’ previous strongholds. Soon enough, over the sounds of dripping water and the soft breathing that Altaïr had always heard from inside himself, he began to hear a familiar voice.

 

Bouchart was indeed present, but it seemed as though he was speaking to someone.

 

“So, you lost to the Assassins again?” the Templar snapped.

 

The man who answered – one dressed in fine, long, fur-lined robes – was unfamiliar to Altaïr as yet, but he had the feeling that he would soon come to know him just as well as any of the other Templars he had encountered during the course of his work. “I tell you, that boy-”

 

“Yes, I know. I’ve heard plenty of your tales about that yellow-eyed demon boy,” Bouchart said, sounding more impatient with every word spoken, Altaïr turned to see Alnesr narrowing his eyes slightly, and sighed softly. “Don’t insult me, Shalim. If you have difficulties dealing with the Assassins, don’t blame them on the appearance of a single one of their members.”

 

“I will deal with the Assassins, and take that traitor prisoner,” Shalim said. “I promise you, Grand Master.”

 

He and Alnesr both took care to observe Shalim where he stood speaking to Bouchart; there was nothing in his form or his manner that served to connect him to his father Moloch. Not his appearance, not his form, and certainly not his attire.

 

“Do it _quickly_ ,” Bouchart snapped. “Before she leads those Assassins directly to the Archive.”

 

All this time, and he hadn’t thought to repeat his question to Maria about the Archive, and he swallowed a chuckle as he continued to watch as Shalim and Bouchart spoke. When Shalim turned to leave, however, Bouchart reached out to stop him.

 

“Oh, and Shalim; see that this is delivered to Alexander in Limassol,” Bouchart said, handing Shalim a large sack, and Shalim nodded his assent.


	91. The mad prophetess

Altaïr clenched his teeth in fury; so, even Alexander had been working for the Templars, or else they had replaced him with one of their own as in the case of Barnabas. However, the two of them had soon begun to move off, leaving the path clear for them to make their way yet farther into the deep parts of Buffavento. Finding himself unable to pass through a gate that stood before him, Altaïr signaled Alnesr and the two of them clambered out onto a balcony, then made their way across the outer walls of the castle, and then climbed back in and continued on their way downward.

 

However, when they entered Buffavento’s walls once more, Altaïr began to hear ranting and screaming. A pair of guards that had been distracted by the noise echoing from farther down the halls fell to his and Alnesr’s blades, allowing the pair of them to move farther down through the corridor. As he came to the end of a tunnel that opened into what seemed to be another jail cell, though stronger and thicker than the others he had been seeing previously, Altaïr was finally able to find just where it was that Bouchart had gone.

 

“What’s happening?” the Templar asked the guard standing by on the side of a barred partition standing before yet another row of cell doors.

 

Altaïr crouched further out of sight, hidden in an alcove within the tunnel, some steps ahead of where Alnesr had stopped to hide himself.

 

“It’s that madwoman, sir,” the guard reported, raising his voice to be heard over the tumult behind him. “She’s on a rampage. Two of the guards have been injured.”

 

“Let her play,” Bouchart said, smiling with no kindness at all. “She has served her purpose.”

 

Once more, Altaïr found that attacking was just beyond his means; he and Alnesr might very well have been able to overcome Bouchart and the single guard he presently had with him, but there would be no way of knowing just how many others such an action would alert. He would not be such a fool as to trust to luck when he and his brother Assassin were surrounded by Templars in this way. He would not forget the lesson he had learned, nor the suffering he had inflicted on Malik and Alnesr both.

 

Watching as Bouchart and the guard he had been speaking with left, Altaïr turned to signal Alnesr and together the pair of them moved forward to stand before the partition. He found it locked, as he’d nearly suspected it would be in a place such as this, and so he spent a few moments working it open as Alnesr stood silent and watchful beside him. Finally having done with the partition barring his path, Altaïr clapped Alnesr’s right shoulder and the two of them made their way still deeper into the cell of the madwoman so many had spoken of.

 

The presumed dark oracle who was said to have given the Templars every advantage over the Cypriot Resistance; Altaïr rather doubted the latter, but after glimpsing the man in black more than once, he found himself curious about the latter.

 

As his eyes grew ever more accustomed to the darkness this deep within Buffavento, Altaïr was able to grasp the true size of the madwoman’s cell. It was nearly the size of a well-appointed banquet hall, rather than the small, cramped spaces that he’d seen in the proceeding halls. There was also a curtain of mist clinging to the floor at about mid-calf height on him, hiding the exact look of the floor, and also what looked like patches of some kind of foliage. He’d never seen the like of it before, not in any of the prisons he’d infiltrated during his time as a member of the Brotherhood.

 

The madwoman was making a long, drawn-out screeching, and the farther he continued into the oversized cell that the Templars had imprisoned the madwoman that they had used for their own purposes, Altaïr came to a complete halt as the screeching stopped. He saw Alnesr’s lips just beginning to part, the expression on his face making it clear that he was about to ask a question, before a disturbing voice echoed through the cold, dimly-lit room.

 

“Pagan blood,” the jagged, singsong voice came out of the shadows of the room. “I know your names, sinners,” she cackled. “I know why you’re here. God guide my claws. God grant me the strength to snap your bones.”

 

Drawing his sword, and hearing the hiss as Alnesr did likewise, Altaïr moved toward the sound of the madwoman’s voice with his blade drawn. She dove headlong at the pair of them, squalling and hissing almost like a maddened cat, and he brought his sword forward to block her charge with the flat of his blade. When Alnesr stepped forward, acting to push her backward with the flat of his own blade, their eyes locked and the madwoman hissed.

 

“Son of the heartless man,” she growled.

 

Alnesr scoffed, continuing to drive her backward as Altaïr closed with him.

 

“The heartless man, and the thirteen who would become him,” she warbled, her eyes widening and her mouth pulling back into a snarl.

 

Steadying his breathing, Altaïr drove forward to deal with the madwoman before she could attack them in earnest with her long, sharp nails. She had the desperate strength of madness, and Altaïr found himself hard-pressed to drive her back without suffering more than superficial wounds. However, it seemed as though the madwoman was particularly focused on Alnesr; either she thought his brother Assassin the greater threat somehow, or else she had been startled by his yellow eyes in the same way as any of those outside the Brotherhood had been. He did not know which it ultimately had been, but either way he was not going to simply disregard a useful advantage.

 

Though he often wished that Alnesr would not be looked askance at by those that he acted in defense of.

 

“Whatever the Templars have done to you, my lady, they have done you wrong,” he said, once he and Alnesr had managed to subdue her enough that she could no longer attack them; Alnesr’s yellow eyes staring into her own behind his brother Assassin’s own sword seemed to be a sufficient deterrent to keep her from moving to save herself. “Forgive us this.”

 

Taking what life the Cypriot had been left by the Templars who had held her for so long, Altaïr bowed his head briefly in a small gesture of regret and respect for the Cypriot woman who had been so ill-used by the Templars. Turning away from her sad, crumpled form, he caught Alnesr’s eye and the two of them swiftly departed from Buffavento along another path. As, considering what they left in their wake, there was always a chance that the remaining Templars would find their fallen comrades and attempt to start a search.

 

They encountered little enough resistance on their way out, and Altaïr was pleased at least to know that his skill had not been compromised alongside his better judgment.

 

Once they had left the dangerous grounds of the Templar-held castle behind, Altaïr turned his path toward the old safehouse that they had been staying in when they first arrived in Kyrenia, and he and Alnesr hurried their steps to get there. The safehouse was as they had left it so long ago; Markos and Maria had both found their way back there, and he greeted the pair of them easily. Though, when he spoke to Maria, it was for somewhat longer, and he was certain that she could hear the fondness in his voice when he did so.

 

Making his way over to an empty desk toward the back of the room, Altaïr took his journal out and opened it to the next blank page and then began to write:

 

_Why do our instincts insist upon violence? I have studied the interactions between different species. The innate desire to survive seems to demand the death of the other. Why can they not stand hand-in-hand? So many believe the world was created through the works of a divine power; but I see only the designs of a madman, bent on celebrating death, destruction, and desperation._

 

He turned to contemplate the Apple again, musing on what he had found of it, and what else he might need to know:

 

_Who were the ones who made it? What brought them here? What drove them out? What of these artifacts, and the man in black? Could he be one of them? Are these artifacts some kind of messages in a bottle? Tools left behind to aid and guide us? Or, do we fight for control over their refuse, giving divine purpose and meaning to little more than discarded toys?_

 

Setting his quill aside, Altaïr contemplated the Apple farther. Running the tips of his fingers over the seams between the Apple’s metal plates; the odd, colorless light within the Apple flickered for a moment, and for a brief moment Altaïr thought he saw the form of the man in black. Wondering if such a thing could have been true, Altaïr closed his journal once again as he continued to think. He still did not know just what more he could do on that subject, about the Apple or about the man in black that haunted it, and so he decided to set both matters aside for the moment.

 

Tucking away his journal within his robes once more, Altaïr stood up and turned away from the desk where he had been working and made his way over to where the remainder of the Resistance, along with Alnesr and Maria, were all spread out to sleep. Settling himself down nearby, just to the right of where Alnesr had chosen to take his rest, Altaïr closed his own eyes. It was not long before he himself had fallen asleep as well.


	92. Son of the Bull

The next morning, after he had gotten what sleep he could while he was still curious about the Apple and what secrets it still held, Altaïr rose from the pallets that occupied the furthest corner of the safehouse and made his way to the back of a line that led to what was clearly an eating area, given the setup he was becoming ever more aware of as he closed in on the small section of the room where those who served in this safehouse had all gathered for the moment.

 

“Well, a hearty good morning to you, Assassin,” Maria said, as the two of them fell into step beside one another on their way into what served as a dining room in this place.

 

“We always seem to be meeting like this, don’t we Maria?” he echoed her words, and saw her face twist briefly in amusement.

 

“Don’t think I’m going to tell you anything about anything my Order has planned, Assassin,” Maria said, her tone every inch as haughty as it had always been, but something like amusement glittering in her dark eyes.

 

“I would not think to ask such a thing,” he said, raising his own chin so that it matched hers.

 

He thought he glimpsed a small smile upon Maria’s face, but if he did indeed see such a thing he found that it was hidden almost more quickly than it appeared. As Altaïr made his way over to the place that Alnesr seemed to have claimed for the both of them, he allowed himself to settle down by his brother Assassin’s left side as the two of them began to eat the meal that Alnesr had gathered for the pair of them.

 

Once he had finished with the meal with the members of the Resistance that had gathered in the sectioned-off area of the safehouse, Altaïr rose and made his way back toward where Markos had set himself up to oversee the workings of the Resistance cell that inhabited this place. He wanted to get an early start in dealing with Shalim, and for that he would need to speak to Markos, on the very real chance that there was something he was unaware of.

 

When he found Markos, behind his desk even this early hour, Altaïr smiled slightly as he made his way over to the man so that they could speak.

 

“The Oracle is dead,” he said, sobering as he spoke the words; the death of another, even those necessary to safeguarding the peace and freedom that the Templars would steal from every living person if they were given the chance to do so, was not and would never be something that he took pleasure in. “She will not be spilling anymore secrets.”

 

“That is a relief to hear,” Markos said.

 

“Who is Shalim?” he asked, before the Cypriot could think of anything else to say. “I heard Bouchart speaking to him. Apparently, he was the one who carried out the attack on the previous safehouse your group was operating out of. I heard the two of them speaking about it last night.”

 

“Shalim is the Bull’s whelp,” Markos said, with a distasteful shudder. “He is a vicious man, though not so devout as his father. He’s been seen with Bouchart on more than one occasion.”

 

“I think I’ll tail him for awhile, to see what I can learn,” he said, pausing for a moment to consider whether or not he would involve Alnesr in such a matter; on the one hand, if he lost sight of Shalim in the crowds it would indeed be helpful to have another to pick up his trail, but on the other it was likely to have been Alnesr’s presence that had given Maria the chance to slip the net the Templars had cast for her.

 

“Meet me in the Market district when you’re through,” Markos said, and Altaïr wondered why he was so eager to meet up _there_ , of all places. He _could_ have perfectly innocent reasons for it, but Altaïr could no longer afford the luxury of blind trust; no Assassin truly could, but him less than most, considering the circumstances. “I want to know what you find.”

 

“Very well, Markos,” he said, allowing himself to hope for a moment that Markos was a man he could at least trust so far as matters of the Resistance were concerned. “I shall find you there, then.”

 

Departing from the safehouse without another word, Altaïr made his way back out into the city and up the side of a nearby building. Breathing more easily once he was safely out of sight of the Templar guards who might have been patrolling the streets that he would have otherwise been traveling on, Altaïr searched for the familiar form of Shalim within the crowds. It did not take him long to find the man; wearing no less of his finery than when Altaïr had first laid eyes on him, he made quite the easy mark.

 

Following him just far enough to see that he was going to a brothel, and shook his head in slight amusement; less devout indeed. Breaking off from Shalim’s trail, Altaïr turned his path toward Kyrenia’s market district so that he could meet up with Markos and hence be able to provide the information the Cypriot had requested that he bring. He still did not quite know just what it was that Markos had intended by such a request, but for the moment Altaïr was willing to give the man the benefit of reasonable doubt.

 

Once he came within sight of Kyrenia’s large market, Altaïr swiftly caught sight of Markos, wandering between the various stalls as though he could not quite decide what to buy. Nodding to himself, having often used just that sort of a disguise when he was seeking to meet with a contact or else to observe a target without being observed in turn, Altaïr set about finding a clear patch of street so that he could descend back to the ground without being seen.

 

Finding one rather quickly, Altaïr returned to the streets of Kyrenia so that he and Markos would be able to speak plainly, now that he had gathered at least _some_ information about Shalim.

 

“I need to get close to him,” he said, once he and Markos had settled down on a bench together; something that would draw only the barest attention from the curious, and even then only for a few moments. “If he’s as stupid as he is brash, then I may be able to get _some_ secrets out of him.”

 

“Speak to one of the monks near the cathedral,” Markos said, with a rather amused chuckle. “Shalim’s wayward lifestyle demands frequent confessions.”

 

“That does sound rather promising,” he said, nodding slightly with a soft smile of his own. “I will meet with you again later, Markos.”

 

“Good fortune, my friend.”

 

Nodding a last time as he ascended the side of a nearby building, once out of sight of those still on the ground, Altaïr set off to find the cathedral that Markos had spoken about. It was not so long before he had, and not long after that when he found himself a bench to sit on, this one placed beneath a light canopy that flapped in the strong breeze. The crowds of people going into and out of the cathedral, and around it on the way to their various errands, took little to no notice of what seemed to be a lone scholar resting his feet for a time.

 

Paying only a modicum of attention to those people whose presence wasn’t of interest to him at this place and time, Altaïr made sure to appear as though his interest in those people was as cursory as theirs appeared to be in him. When he saw one of the monks making his way out of the cathedral on some business or other, Altaïr sighed softly in relief that he would soon be done with this part of his task.

 

“Does it not trouble you, brother, to suffer the sins of such a vile man as Shalim?” he asked, in a low tone so that none but the man he was speaking with would overhear him.

 

“It does,” the monk said, after having checked to see that he would not be overheard while speaking his mind; such fears would be laid to rest when Altaïr was finally able to make an end to Shalim, Bouchart, and the rest of the Templars in this place. “But to oppose him would mean death. The Templars have too much at stake in this place.”

 

“You mean the Archive?” he asked, curious to know what he would be able to find out from this conversation. “Can you tell me where it is?”

 

He received only a grim-faced headshake in response, as the monk vanished into the crowds. As he was considering whether it would be worth his while to pursue whatever information the man might have had, Altaïr caught the sound of a man speaking from the top of an orator’s platform. The voice was particularly familiar to him, and Altaïr wondered what Shalim thought to accomplish by making speeches. Or, indeed, how he had the mind and constitution for speechmaking after the drunken whoring Altaïr had previously seen the man at.

 

“Men and women of Cyprus,” he announced as his audience assembled; Altaïr made note of how his mannerisms were smoother and more precise than the last time the man had been within his sights, and the lack of the prostitute that he had taken for his pleasure inside the brothel. He did not know if this lack would be explained by his speech, but Altaïr wondered at it all the same. “Armand Bouchart sends his blessings, but with a stern provision that all who foment disorder by their support of the Resistance will be caught and punished. But, those who seek order and harmony, and pay obeisance to the Lord through good work will enjoy Bouchart’s charity. Now, let us work together as brothers to rebuild what hate and anger have torn down.”

 

When Shalim had finished with his speech, Altaïr only found himself more bemused by the content of it. Shalim did not seem the type to speak of charity at all, much less in such a way as he had just moments ago. It took only another moment for Altaïr to make up his mind to follow the man, and he soon found himself standing before the high, imposing walls of St. Hilarion Castle. He quickly saw that Shalim was making his way inside, and since he did not know what defenses he might encounter within the castle, or else what kind of skill Shalim would have to be able to recover so well and so quickly from the state he had been in when Altaïr had first encountered him.

 

He was not such a fool as to confront an unknown quantity like Shalim without aid, particularly not when he still did not know the man’s full capabilities.


	93. Shalim and Shahar

Making his way back to the safehouse in the Commons so that he could speak with Alnesr, Altaïr found his brother Assassin in a rather contemplative pose, simply watching as the remaining Cypriots around him went about their business.

 

“Alnesr, I would have your aid on a mission I am about to undertake,” he said, once he and the younger Assassin were alone within the small space Alnesr seemed to have claimed for himself.

 

“Of course, Altaïr,” Alnesr said, nodding as Altaïr sat down next to him on the bench.

 

“Where is Maria?” he asked, curiosity finally overcoming him as he realized that he hadn’t caught sight of her on his way in.

 

“I’m right here, Assassin.” Altaïr snapped his gaze to where the woman in question had been standing, just as she made her way over to the pair of them. “I’ll be coming along on this errand of yours, and don’t think to deny me, because while I might not have your skills at climbing, I can still follow you.”

 

“You’re welcome to come along,” he said, both for his own and for far more practical reasons. “We could always use another sword-arm.”

 

Maria nodded sharply, though there was a brief moment when Altaïr thought he could see surprise in her expression, and the three of them swiftly stood and departed from the safehouse for the third time that day. While they made their way back over the rooftops toward St. Hilarion Castle, Maria filled them in on the situation with Shalim. And, unexpectedly, the man’s twin brother Shahar.

 

He’d not been prepared for such a revelation as that, but it did rather explain just how what he had seen – what had seemed to be an impossibly fast rate of recovery – had been accomplished in the end.

 

“When we reach the castle, there are some things that I wish to speak with Shahar about,” Maria said, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over them as they continued on their way to the Castle again.

 

“Oh?” he asked, turning to look at her as the three of them stopped on the roof of a nearby building. “What do you wish to know?”

 

“I wish to know what it is the Templars are truly planning for the world, and what part that Apple of Eden plays in their plans,” Maria said, narrowing her eyes slightly in contemplation.

 

“I have no objections to that,” he said. “Alnesr, what are your thoughts on the matter?”

 

“I find myself rather curious about that matter, as well,” his brother Assassin said, looking rather contemplative.

 

In the end, the pair of them agreed to give Maria what time she would need to find out what purpose the Apple would have served in the plans that the Templars had been making, and only to intervene when it became clear that Shalim and Shahar had no more patience for words. Continuing the rest of the way to St. Hilarion Castle, he and Alnesr made their way up the walls and up onto a nearby balcony so that they would be in a position to look and listen in on the conversation that Maria would be having with Shalim and Shahar.

 

Finding their way up to a wide balcony, uninhabited with the full heat of the sun beating down on it and no shelter from such a thing, he and Alnesr settled themselves there in order that they might be able to observe the conversation that was to take place between Maria and the Templar brothers Shalim and Shahar. Looking down upon her as she made her way inside, Altaïr smiled slightly as he saw the fierce set of her shoulders and the proud way she walked.

 

“I didn’t expect to see you again,” Shahar said, in fact seeming rather startled. “How might I be able to help you, Maria?”

 

“I’m not here on social business,” Maria said, her voice terse. “I want answers.”

 

The two of them made their way into the castle, Maria tagging along beside Shahar as the pair of them began speaking again.

 

“Is it true, what I have heard?” she demanded. “That the Templars wish to use the Apple of Eden for ill? Not to enlighten the people, but to subdue them?”

 

Shahar smiled, in that same way that Altaïr remembered Al Mualim smiling when he would speak of the next task that Altaïr would be given. He was no longer impressed by such a small gesture as he had been, and was hence all the more eager for Maria to find out just what it was that the Templars were planning, and not the stories that de Sable had clearly told her when he had brought her into the ranks of his Crusaders.

 

“People are confused, Maria,” Shahar said, still wearing that smile. “They are lambs begging to be led. And that’s what we offer: simple lives, free of worry.”

 

“Our Order was created to protect the people,” Maria insisted, folding her arms in disapproval. “Not to rob them of their liberty.”

 

Shahar’s lip curled, looking rather contemptuous. “The Templars put no stock in liberty, Maria. We seek order, nothing more.”

 

“Order, or enslavement?” Maria demanded, standing firm as Shahar came toward her.

 

“You may call it whatever you like, my dear,” Shahar said, his tone darker and more menacing than it had previously been; Altaïr tensed, and signaled Alnesr to prepare himself, as well.

 

The two of them burst in through the doors just as Shahar was beginning to step towards Maria with malicious intent in his eyes.

 

“Apologies, Shahar, we let ourselves in,” Altaïr said, as he and Alnesr strode boldly into the room, himself proceeding by a few steps as the pair of them drew their swords.

 

“ _Assassins_ ,” the Templar hissed, drawing his own sword; Maria jumped back from him and drew her own sword.

 

He could see Shalim and several of his guards hurrying into the room with them, and as he and Alnesr fell into step with Maria, Altaïr braced himself for combat once again.

 

The guards were easily dealt with, but the Templars themselves proved hardier and more skilled, as seemed to be the usual situation in those places he was forced to travel to when dealing with Templars. Shalim and Shahar also seemed to be as adept at working together as he and Alnesr, and Altaïr suspected that such a thing was probably for rather similar reasons. Still, in the end, their greater numbers and drive to win prevailed, leaving Shalim, Shahar, and the guards that they had called to them all dead at their feet.

 

Altaïr was particularly pleased at such a conclusion, and as the three of them made their careful way back out of the castle of St. Hilarion, he smiled briefly at Maria. He was not entirely certain that she would share in his appreciation, and so he made certain to smile when the back of her head was turned toward him. He also took note of the way her skill at climbing seemed to have increased, not only between this time and the last, but also from the time they had been initially scaling the walls of St. Hilarion and their efforts to descend once more.

 

It was yet another thing about the situation that he was starting to enjoy, knowing that Maria was willing to come with him and learn more of what the Assassins wished for the world.


	94. Growing together

When the three of them finally made it back to the safehouse where the three of them had been staying while they aided the Cypriot Resistance, Altaïr allowed himself to breathe more easily when he climbed back down the side of the nearby building just slightly to the side of the one that he had climbed up originally. Taking the lead, and looking to the side as Maria fell into step just beside him, Altaïr soon found himself standing in the center of the trio he had once been leading. It was a rather interesting turn of events, Altaïr thought, but he’d little time to think about such a thing before Markos was addressing him.

 

“It’s happening, just as we wanted!” Markos exclaimed happily, reaching out to embrace him in comradeship; Altaïr smiled, though there was a part of him that still remained uneasy with things as they were, with the rumblings of Templar spies in the background of all his doings in Kyrenia and Cyprus as a whole. “The ports are emptying of Templar ships! Kyrenia will soon be free! And, after that, maybe the whole of Cyprus will soon follow!”

 

“Stay cautious,” he reminded both the Cypriot and himself, sobering even as he said such. “The Templars wouldn’t leave their Archive undefended, so it cannot be here,” he’d a moment’s thought to ask Maria about such, but then supposed that it was still likely she would refuse to speak of it; if out of a lingering sense of loyalty to de Sable, if nothing else.

 

“Most of the ships that left here were headed back to Limassol,” Markos said. “Could it be _there_?”

 

“I do not know, but I will make a thorough investigation in any case,” he said, allowing himself a smile wider than the one he had worn in any of these places; matters seemed to be proceeding more smoothly, and while he might have his doubts that _everything_ was going to be proceeding with the same smoothness, Altaïr felt content for the moment. “Thank you, Markos. You have served your country well.”

 

“God speed to you three,” the Cypriot said, then turned squarely to Maria. “And, I am sorry I judged you so harshly, beforehand.”

 

“Think nothing of it,” Maria said, that same edge of fierce calm that he had heard so often when he had listened to her in the past. “I _was_ a Templar, and I still agree with their motives, if not their means.”

 

“Come,” Alnesr said, before anyone else could say anything. “We should leave quickly if we’re to find a ship to travel with.”

 

“Thank you for your hospitality, Markos,” he bowed slightly to the man. “But, my brother is right: we truly _should_ be leaving.”

 

The trio of them did not even bother with the streets this time, opting instead to travel over the rooftops between them and their present destination. Altaïr took note of the way Maria’s skill had improved almost literally by leaps and bounds, and was pleased that even when he was not actively attempting to teach, he could still manage to impart the wisdom that he had gained in such a way that it left a lasting impression.

 

Once the three of them finally made their way back out to the harbor, surrounded again by the creek and rustle of bobbing ships – the snap and crack of unfurling sails – Altaïr paused only briefly for a breath of sea air, still rather less than familiar to him after all this time, then signaled Alnesr and Maria to follow along with him as he moved. He’d spotted a likely candidate to take the three of them back to Limassol, and now all the three of them would need to do was board the ship, conceal themselves, and await their return to Limassol in at least a modicum of comfort. This he had explained to Maria, knowing that Alnesr’s learning – if not direct experience – in such an area would serve him as it always had.

 

Slipping inside under the very eyes of the Templars provisioning the ship for travel, Altaïr led the three of them to the hold where they perched atop the various crates that had already been stacked there. He was all the more pleased to note how well Maria seemed to be adapting to the rigors that life as an Assassin imposed upon those who had taken up the cause of the Brotherhood by choice, or even by birth as he and Alnesr both had. Clearly, the time she had spent under de Sable’s tutelage had borne fruit that would be useful for more than mere service under the Templars.

 

Settling himself into the state of relaxed alertness that had served him so well during the course of his many hunts for the targets that the Brotherhood had selected for him – and that he himself would soon be called upon to select for the Assassins that now served under him, Altaïr recalled after a moment’s thought – Altaïr felt the gentle rocking of the ship as bore the three of them and the Templars back to Limassol.

 

Soon enough, the journey had ended and the three of them were called upon to leave the ship and the harbor both without alerting the Templars to their presence now or then.

 

It was not such a simple thing, leading a group of three to move with stealth and silence when one of those three seemed more the sort to confront their enemies head-on while declaring their intent, but Maria learned quickly and the three of them were hence able to remain out of the hands of the Templars who would have only been too eager to take them in chains to some prison or other. If not kill him and Alnesr outright for being Assassins, and perhaps even Maria for being a traitor. Altaïr was just as happy to avoid any of those fates.

 

Climbing up the wall of a nearby building once the three of them were safely out from under the eyes of the Templars in Limassol’s own harbor, Altaïr paused for a moment to look down into the streets before he set off again. The Templars still seemed just as firmly in control as they had been when he had departed for Kyrenia; the populace seemed as resentful and beaten-down as they ever had been, and even as he continued on to a place were he might be more free to observe the layout of the city and hence find out just where the Resistance had moved to since he had departed this place, Altaïr resolved that he would make every possible effort to free them as he searched for the Templar Archive.

 

Making his way over to the side of a tall spire he had spotted in the middle-distance, rather familiar to him after all the time he had spent in Damascus and other cities of the Levant, Altaïr activated his second-sight and searched for the telltale soft blue glow of allies. He’d not thought to use the skill when he was working with the Cypriot Resistance as a part of it, but he knew now that it had been a mistake to neglect such a skill as he had done in the past.

 

He was not going to allow himself to make such a mistake in the future; more lives than his own depended on his caution.


	95. Traitor’s Tale

Signaling Alnesr and Maria to follow him, once he had fully determined the location of the safehouse, Altaïr directed the pair of them over the rooftops and across the streets as he made for it. As he drew close enough to be able to make out the forms within the safehouse rather than simply the building itself, Altaïr again used his second-sight to determine if those within would be his enemies or not. All of those inside glowed a friendly blue, and so he let out a breath of relief as he descended down the side of a nearby building and then made his way inside.

 

“Assassins,” one of the Cypriots who had been attending to some manner of business behind the main counter said. “I apologize that Alexander was not here to meet you, but he was called away on business just this afternoon. For now, please, take some rest and make yourselves at home. It’s likely he will arrive tomorrow.”

 

“Thank you,” Altaïr said, making a mental note to use his second-sight to determine if it would _truly_ be Alexander that he would be speaking to and not simply a Templar playing at being him. “Get some rest,” this he directed at Alnesr and Maria. “We’ll likely have a great deal to do come the morning.”

 

“Remember your own advice, brother,” Alnesr said, smiling gently at him. “We’re not the only ones likely to need sleep for what might be coming.”

 

“Thank you, brother,” he said, smiling in a slightly rueful fashion as he recognized just what the younger Assassin had seen to say such a thing; the thought of being the Master must have weighed upon him more than he truly saw.

 

Still, there was at least one thing he wished to have done before he slept, and while he fully understood that Alnesr would not be entirely pleased to know such if he managed to find out, he was determined to have it done before he forgot the thoughts he had been having during the course of these last few days. Settling himself down at a desk nearby the sleeping area, and returning the wry expression Alnesr gave him when his brother Assassin nodded that way, Altaïr turned back to the desk and laid out his journal atop it.

 

Opening to the first blank page he found, slightly down from the last entry he had made, Altaïr took up his quill once again and began to write:

 

 _I remember my moment of weakness, my confidence shaken by Al Mualim’s words. He, who had been like a father, was revealed to be my greatest enemy. Just the briefest flicker of doubt was all he needed to creep into my mind with this device,_ he set his right hand upon the Apple, musing again about it and the man in black. _But I vanquished his phantoms, restored my self-confidence, and sent him from this world. And yet, now I find myself facing another conundrum: who is the man in black, and what might he intend?_

 

Left with that question to ponder as he tried to settle himself down to sleep, Altaïr resolved that he _would_ discover the answers to those questions.

 

_~AC: BL~_

 

When the next morning came, Altaïr rose with the sun and woke Alnesr so that the two of them could spar. He’d the feeling that the both of them would sooner than later have need of sharp skills and sharper blades if they were to survive what would clearly be coming. Maria joined them after only a short time spent observing how the pair of them fought, and he smiled slightly as she adapted herself to their rhythm and added a third side to their conflict.

 

Once their muscles and skills had been properly prepared for whatever else would come this day, Altaïr made his way over to the desk in the forefront of the building to find Alexander waiting for him. The Cypriot did not seem particularly pleased to see him.

 

“Stay back, traitor!” the man all but snarled as he approached. “You have betrayed the Resistance, and sold out our cause! Have you been Bouchart’s man, all this time?”

 

“I was about to ask the same of you, Alexander,” he said, after quickly mastering himself after the accusation that had been thrown at him; he might have deserved some of it, not having had the wit to question Barnabas until it was too late, but in light of what he had found out of Alexander he hardly thought the man was in a position to question him. “I overheard Bouchart mentioning your name. He delivered a package to you, did he not?”

 

“Yes: the head of poor Barnabas in a burlap sack!”

 

Altaïr felt chilled for a long moment; he’d not thought to ever be manipulated in the same way that Al Mualim had once done, and for much the same ends, it seemed. Making his way over to the burlap sack where it lay, already smelling the stink of what he had quickly recognized as rotting meat, Altaïr looked inside.

 

“This was not the man me and mine had dealings with in Kyrenia,” he said, not quite certain what he was to feel about such a thing; it was not as though he could have been expected to know the members of the Resistance by sight, but even within the privacy of his own mind the words sounded like an excuse.

 

“What?” Alexander exclaimed, looking as shaken as Altaïr had felt for those few moments before mastering himself.

 

“The real Barnabas had more than likely been murdered before we arrived,” he said, speculating aloud for both their benefit. “Replaced by a Templar agent, who did a great deal of damage before vanishing.”

 

“God help us,” Alexander muttered, composing himself after a moment’s loss of such. “The Templars have been equally brutal here: with Captains roaming the Market, the Ports, and the Cathedral square, arresting anyone they see fit to.”

 

“Don’t despair,” he said, pitching his tone to be calming. “Kyrenia has already shaken off the Templars; we will expel them from Limassol, too.”

 

“You’re right,” Alexander said, his resolve already looking more firm. “But, you and yours must be careful. Templar propaganda has turned some of my men against you, and others will still be wary.”

 

“Thank you for the warning,” he said, nodding as he made his way back out to speak with Alnesr once more.


	96. Captain’s trail

It seemed as though they would soon be able to make at least _some_ amends for the mistakes he had made in his handling of their contact with the Cypriot Resistance. Speaking briefly to Alnesr and Maria both, Altaïr called for his brother Assassin to follow him as the pair of them made their way back up to the rooftops over Cyprus once more.

 

“Good hunting, brother,” Alnesr said, as his brother Assassin turned and prepared to depart from the rooftop where the pair of them had alighted for the moment.

 

“To you as well, brother,” he said, drawing a small, brief smile from his junior, before the two of them parted to be about their work.

 

Making his way steadily back toward Limassol’s Marketplace, over the rooftops and across the gaps that stood between him and the Marketplace that was to be his first destination, Altaïr paused for a moment to deal with an archer that had the misfortune to be in his way as he was traveling. Leaping lightly down from the rooftops, just as he saw the Templar captain that patrolled in this particular area of Limassol, Altaïr swiftly ascended back to the rooftops and continued on his way.

 

He and Alnesr had already made plans to meet up at the Cathedral Square, while Alnesr himself dealt with matters at Limassol’s port, and so Altaïr turned his path to make for the meeting place that he and his brother Assassin had previously elected to meet when they had spoken atop the roof of the Resistance’s Limassol safehouse. Breathing more easily for the fact that he had completed the first of his and Alnesr’s tasks for the day, Altaïr took a moment to conceal himself within one of the rooftop gardens. Alnesr would be able to quickly spot him, using the second-sight that they both shared, and so the two of them had elected to meet up in this place.

 

_~AC: BL~_

 

Stalking his prey from the docks, Alnesr used his second-sight to determine just which of the ships carried the Templar captain that he was seeking. Flicking his eyes over the ships to either side of him within the expansive port, Alnesr was soon able to locate the man. Now, all that remained was to make his way out onto the boat where the Templar had secluded himself so that he could come to grips with the man for the first and final time. Turning his path away from the Templar’s boat, after having marked it with his second-sight, Alnesr blended neatly back into the crowds moving all along the docks and the waterside.

 

Departing once more from the crowds of citizens going about their daily business, Alnesr waited a moment for a break in the crowds so that he could remain unseen, and then made his way up the side of a building so that he could leap into the rigging of a nearby ship. Swiftly making his way back over the ships, evading the gaze of those few on the docks who thought to look up into the rigging where he was, Alnesr made his way back to the ship that he had marked in his second-sight.

 

Waiting for a simple lapse of attention from the sailors tending the cargo within this vessel, Alnesr acted as soon as he managed to spot such. The death of the captain threw those around him into disarray just long enough for him to escape with the deaths of only a small number of sailors. Blending swiftly back into the busy crowds, Alnesr broke away once more and made his way back to the buildings. Breaking from the crowds once more, Alnesr regained the rooftops and began to make his way to Limassol’s Cathedral Square.

 

He was due to meet Altaïr there, as the two of them had agreed upon just before they had parted company for the morning.

 

Making his way back over the rooftops that stood between him and the Cathedral square of Limassol, Alnesr wondered just who they could ultimately trust within the Resistance. Altaïr had told him of the trouble that the Templars had stirred up all about the Resistance – the agents that they had employed to discredit the Assassins in the eyes of the Cypriots – and Alnesr found himself annoyed by the prospect. He knew that the Templars were determined to bring down the Brotherhood by any means that they could manage, yes, but he still found himself irrationally annoyed by such a thing.

 

Setting those thoughts aside once more, Alnesr sighed and continued on his way back into the city.

 

Alighting on a rooftop nearer the square, Alnesr searched by quadrants for his mentor and brother Assassin. Soon enough, he had managed to locate Altaïr, and so moved quickly so that they could meet up once more. Meeting atop the buildings surrounding the Cathedral Square, he and Altaïr spoke briefly about their respective experiences while they had been hunting for the two Templar captains. They also mutually decided that the pair of them would each take half of the square; each searching it for signs of the last Captain’s presence.

 

_~AC: BL~_

 

Splitting off from Alnesr as the pair of them began searching the grounds of Limassol’s Cathedral Square, Altaïr allowed himself to feel a brief swell of pride for the skill that his brother Assassin had demonstrated during his own hunt for the Templar captain at Limassol’s port. Setting those thoughts aside, Altaïr returned his attention to his own hunt for the last of the three Templar captains in this area.

 

Searching for larger gatherings of Templars, knowing that the Captain was far more likely than not to have extra guards and soldiers around him while he went about his own work, Altaïr quickly found himself tailing a group of soldiers making their way quickly and with purpose through the streets and alleys of the Square. He was rather pleased to note that they were indeed making their way toward a meeting with their captain.

 

Descending swiftly from the rooftop he’d alighted on, Altaïr killed all of the gathered Templars as quickly and smoothly as he could manage.

 

Rising from the pile of bodies that he had left behind him, Altaïr returned to the rooftops so that he could meet up with Alnesr, and so that the pair of them could return to the Resistance’s safehouse to speak with Alexander. They would both need to know more about the situation as it developed, in order to make plans for what actions they would need to take next.

 

Perhaps he would also speak with Maria, to see if she could shed any light on what the Templars might be planning, herself.

 

Perched atop the rooftops for a moment, Altaïr searched for his brother Assassin, and swiftly found that Alnesr was making his own way closer. Smiling slightly, Altaïr turned his own path so that it would intersect with that of his brother Assassin. The two of them met up with each other once again, speaking briefly about what they had seen and done while they were making their own ways through the Cathedral Square.

 

Hearing of Alnesr’s own dealing with the Templar soldiers that had once roamed the streets of the Cathedral Square, Altaïr spoke in turn of his own encounter with the Templar captain in this area. Side-by-side once more, he and Alnesr made their way back to Limassol’s Port. Alnesr had said that the captain the Templars had employed had seemed to him rather more of a pirate than a proper sailor, and now Altaïr was curious to know what that meant.

 

He’d not thought that the ideals that the Templars espoused would have countenanced dealing with those kinds of people, but then all of those he had dealt with _had_ seemed all too willing to compromise their stated ideals for material gain of one sort or another.

 

So, as he and Alnesr made their way back to Limassol’s port, Altaïr found himself growing increasingly curious about what the ultimate result of their actions in this place would be. They had at least made _some_ form of progress in routing the Templars in this area, but there was clearly more for the pair of them – not knowing Maria’s present feelings, he couldn’t speak to her willingness – to do before they would be able to call this latest task of theirs complete.

 

Returning to Limassol’s docks once more, he and Alnesr had a brief discussion as to what each of them would do during this latest task of theirs. Alnesr volunteered to scout the docks and see to the disposal of any remaining Templar guards or soldiers, while Altaïr himself would interrogate the Port master. True, he _did_ have the greater experience in such an area, but after this was finished, Altaïr made up his mind to begin teaching his brother Assassin his means and methods of interrogation.


	97. Stalking horse

Making his way back through Limassol’s Port, Altaïr remained on guard for those who might seek to challenge him. Not all of them would be Templars, after all; Alexander _had_ previously informed him that some of those working within and beside the Resistance had been deceived by the propaganda that called him a traitor to the cause. And, beyond that, there were still those who had no true idea of the struggle between the Assassins and Templars, and would simply seek to hinder him because they were paid to do so.

 

It was this last group that Altaïr did not relish fighting in the least; those who had no stake in this war of theirs, in his view, should not be in danger of losing their lives in it. Still, he knew better than most that the would that they all lived in was far from ideal.

 

Scanning the crowds of citizens hurrying along about their business, he heard the low, rumbling voice of a man speaking to someone or other.

 

“I’d honestly rather be out at sea than idling away in this dump,” the man speaking groused. “You know where I can find some entertainment, eh?”

 

“Go away,” a nearby man, this one wearing red, and a Templar cross, said in a tone of dismissive contempt.

 

The trio split up after that, and Altaïr followed the man in blue robes and turban. He was clearly the man Altaïr would need to interrogate, and so he would need to follow the man without being seen. Smiling slightly, Altaïr continued on his way; he’d not had the need to perform an interrogation in some time.

 

Following the man in red on his rounds through the city, Altaïr found himself making his way back into sight of Limassol’s marketplace once more. He thought it rather strange, that a man who had been assigned to the Docks would go so far away from the place where he had been assigned without some overriding reason. Making his way back up to the rooftops once more, Altaïr sought out the man once more from his new vantagepoint.

 

Once he had managed to catch up with the man, Altaïr descended as swiftly as he could manage. Silently inserting himself into the back of the group the man was traveling with, Altaïr followed him until he had departed their company, then struck him from behind with a hard punch. Beating the man down until he had agreed to cooperate, Altaïr stood back.

 

“I have a message for Armand Bouchart. Has he come through this port recently?” Altaïr demanded.

 

“I couldn’t say,” the man replied, wincing slightly as he slowly lowered his arms. “But, he’d do well to avoid this place. We had some awful murders here last night.”

 

“Who was killed? Templars?” he asked, hoping that such would be the case; he’d no desire to see more innocents involved in wars beyond their ken.

 

“No,” the Port master said, shaking his head sadly. “A couple of my men working the docks; cut down where they stood. It was so dark, nobody saw a thing.”

 

“Who was on duty that night?” he asked, wondering just what these new developments would come to, in the end.

 

“A goddamned Templar Sergeant,” the Port master snarled. “But you won’t find him here, if you’re looking.”

 

“I am,” he said, knowing now that this man, stubborn though he may have been, was not ultimately his enemy.

 

“He’s over by the Cathedral today,” the Port master said, his tone distinctly unimpressed. “Praying for his own soul, I hope.”

 

“Thank you for your time, my friend,” he said. “My Brother and I will see to this man.”

 

“Good luck to you both,” the Port master said, a wry smile on his face. “I hope you give him more than what you gave me.”

 

“I certainly will,” he replied, turning to leave the man behind.

 

He would need to speak with Alnesr about the new information he had gathered from the Port master, so that they could make further plans.

 

Ascending once more onto the rooftops at the edges of Limassol’s port, Altaïr searched for his brother Assassin. Spotting Alnesr’s agile, white-robed form as the younger Assassin darted down on another unsuspecting Templar soldier, Altaïr smiled softly as he hurried to catch up to the younger Assassin before he could draw too far away. Once the pair of them had drawn close enough to be able to speak once more, Altaïr detailed just what it was that he had learned for Alnesr’s benefit.

 

“It seems as though our presence will be a deterrent for more than just the Templars,” Alnesr said pensively.

 

“True enough,” he allowed, nodding. “Come; we’ll find our quarry back in the Cathedral Square.”

 

“Of course, brother,” Alnesr said, nodding and following his lead back down the side of the building and into the crowds of Limassol’s Port once more.

 

Leaving behind the wafting scents drifting in from the Marketplace’s many stalls for the scents of wood, water, tar, and pitch, Altaïr proceeded his brother Assassin on their way to the path that would return them once again to Limassol’s Cathedral Square. He’d not yet seen evidence of the Templar propaganda that was said to have turned the Cypriots against him and his, but all the same he had determined to keep an eye open for any signs of such. He’d no wish to be caught by surprise when he could avoid it.

 

Traveling over the rooftops on their way back into Limassol’s Cathedral Square, Altaïr found himself wondering once again just what Maria had gotten herself up to while the pair of them were gone; he knew that he could not afford to allow himself to become distracted by such thoughts, and so he put them aside to be examined later.


	98. The hunt and the hunters

Once the pair of them had returned to Limassol’s Cathedral Square, Altaïr proceeded Alnesr down from the rooftops so that they would be able to track this Templar sergeant more easily. Pausing for a moment to activate his second-sight, Altaïr searched the crowds of citizens rendered colorless by the strange un-light that was only visible to him when he allowed himself to see in such a manner. Moving more quickly through the crowds, now that he was able to more easily dismiss those who would hold no interest for him, Altaïr was able to quickly spot the one of them that did.

 

“Alnesr, come; I’ve found him,” he said, looking back over his left shoulder.

 

“Yes, I see him, too,” his brother Assassin said, nodding.

 

“Follow along, this time, and take note of how I handle this,” he advised. “You might very well have need of these skills yourself, someday.”

 

“As you say, brother.”

 

Nodding with some sense of satisfaction as Alnesr fell into step behind him once more, Altaïr prepared himself once more to act as the teacher and mentor that he would need to learn once more to be, if he was to properly perform his new duties as Master of the Syrian Brotherhood.

 

Once he’d managed to catch up to the Templar sergeant he and Alnesr had managed to locate so simply – he did not often relish using his second-sight, for fear that he ease of it was more likely than not to make him complacent – Altaïr glanced back briefly at his brother Assassin, smiling at the expression of concentration he saw on Alnesr’s face, and moved forward to confront the Templar sergeant. It was time they found out what a man like that would know.

 

His first blow was blocked by the sword of one of the Templar’s fellow Knights, and just that simply Altaïr found himself dealing with a rather completely different situation than the one he had been mentally preparing for. Alnesr was, as always, swift to join him in battle, and together the pair of them were able to swiftly dispatch the Templar Knights that stood between them and the sergeant that they had both come to this place for in the first place.

 

“You cower like a man wracked with a guilty conscience,” he snapped, not feeling particularly charitable toward one who had upset the usual procedure for interrogations so completely; yes, he knew that such a thing was a natural consequence of fighting those who had minds of their own, but knowing such was not enough to keep Altaïr from feeling as he did.

 

He let the feeling pass; now was hardly the time for outbursts.

 

“Your kind is getting desperate, Assassin,” the Templar said, smiling up at him in a way that Altaïr did not like at all. “Attacking us blindly, grasping for answers.”

 

“You let Bouchart slip through the ports last night, and murdered two good men in the process,” Altaïr said, reining in his temper with both hands; men like this were the worst of all, as they had actually managed to convince themselves that they acted for the good of those they aimed to enslave.

 

“That wasn’t _my_ work,” the Templar sergeant said, his tome sounding as though he found the very idea humorous. “I just patrol there; go pester Demetris, _he_ practically _owns_ those ports.”

 

“Demetris?” he echoed. “A wealthy man, I suppose…”

 

“Quite!” the Templar grinned up at him with bloodstained teeth, briefly prompting Altaïr to grind his own. “A debouched merchant and gluttonous worm, but he’s been a useful ally in this operation.”

 

Sickened by what he had heard, though Altaïr supposed that he truly should not have expected better from a Templar, Altaïr unhesitatingly ended the life of the Templar sergeant and let him fall to the ground. Alnesr’s soft hand on his right arm drew his thoughts back to the present where they properly belonged, and he turned to smile at his brother Assassin.

 

“This _is_ an important lesson for you to learn, Alnesr, though not the one I had first intended to teach you,” he said, once the two of them had left the dead Templars behind them, crouching safely in a rooftop garden out of sight of the citizens on the streets and those few guards on the rooftops. “Not every plan you make goes as well as you might want it.”

 

“Yes, I have come to realize that myself, during the course of my own work for the Brotherhood,” Alnesr said, his tone sounding more wry than Altaïr had ever heard from the younger Assassin in all the time they had worked together.

 

It was a rather odd thing to hear, all told, but Altaïr chose to think of it as a sign of Alnesr’s increasing level of comfort in his own skin. His brother Assassin _had_ always seemed more like an adult wearing a child’s skin, ever since the day Abbas had tried to kill him. At least, when he had gathered himself enough to be able to speak again. Altaïr still wondered, sometimes, what course his brother Assassin’s life would have taken if he and Abbas had not had their falling-out.

 

Still, he did not think himself wrong for sharing the truth of Ahmad’s fate with Abbas; it was only bitter denial that had led Abbas to reject such a thing, and it was more than likely to have been mere stubbornness that drove his actions since that day.

 

Putting aside those thoughts, important though they might have felt to him, Altaïr turned to confer with Alnesr again. The both of them agreed that the place they were most likely to find a merchant such as Demetris was in Limassol’s Marketplace, and so that was where the pair of them would go to first, before they widened their search.

 

Rising from his crouch, hidden within the rooftop garden and safely out of sight of any patrolling guards they would have otherwise been required to deal with, Altaïr moved in concert with Alnesr as the pair of them began making their way back towards the cheerfully wafting scents and sounds of Limassol’s Marketplace. He’d more than his fill of dealing with corrupted merchants – those that had given into either the Templars or their own desires – but, all the same, this was one more service he could perform on behalf of those who would not be able to protect themselves from the depredations of those who would otherwise seek to dominate them. His own desires were less than important, in the face of what services he could render to those under the protection of the Brotherhood.

 

Looking down on the varied stalls of Limassol’s Marketplace for yet another time, Altaïr gave a nod to Alnesr and the two of them descended back into the streets once more. Blending into the sparse crowd making their varied ways among the stalls for their varied reasons, Altaïr considered for a long moment whether or not to use his second-sight to find the merchant they were searching for. One the one hand, he did not wish to become overly dependant on the sense, however he also wished to have done with this task as soon as he could manage.

 

Above all other concerns, he needed to speak to Alexander about what he and Alnesr had discovered as soon as he could manage.

 

Pausing a moment to concentrate, Altaïr saw the world washed out into the soft light-and-shadow that composed his second-sight, revealing and reflecting the motives of those around him. Beside him, just to his right, he saw Alnesr’s eyes dart briefly to him, before his brother Assassin narrowed his own eyes in brief concentration. Nodding with some small sense of satisfaction that his brother Assassin had learned well enough to anticipate the need for such a thing without the two of them having to discus it.

 

He was fully aware that such a thing was, like as not, a product of their time spent together, but it was for that reason that he could not deny its utility.

 

Descending back to the streets, once he had spotted a man who shone with the golden light of those who carried information that would aid him in the completion of this newest – and, for the moment, last – mission that he and Alnesr would undertake before returning to the Resistance’s safehouse to report their findings to Alexander, Altaïr found himself confronted by the guards that the merchant had employed. Taking up the poise of a scholar before the men had drawn close enough to truly present a threat to him and Alnesr where they stood, Altaïr sighed inwardly as he realized that the man he had seen was inside the building rather than outside as he’d initially thought.

 

Moving carefully out of sight of the guards that had been gathered before the front entrance of the building, Altaïr led Alnesr around to the back, and the pair of them entered swiftly through an upper window. Following the sound of a man’s voice back toward the front of the building, and Altaïr paused for a moment. If the man they were about to confront called for his guards, it was likely to cause far more trouble than the two of them would be able to handle easily. It was also more than likely to result in the death of the very man he’d an interest in.

 

So, briefly turning back to Alnesr to speak with his brother Assassin about that matter, in low tones that wouldn’t carry to Demetris where he waited below, he posed the idea. Alnesr agreed with him easily, and went back out through a nearby window to deal with the guards that the pair of them had passed by on their way inside. Breathing more easily, knowing that Alnesr would be able to handle himself against the guards stationed before the building, Altaïr continued deeper.

 

The sound of a man’s voice, speaking to other people of his acquaintance, drew Altaïr forward until he was looking down on an elderly man seated in the middle of a pair of concubines. Pausing for a few moments, to see what the man he was observing might do next, Altaïr settled himself to wait for Alnesr to return. The pair of them together would doubtless be able to deal with anything this man thought to bring to bear against them; in addition to that, of course, was the simple fact that he’d long since learned that one was always better served bringing along a trusted companion when one was heading into an unknown situation.

 

It didn’t take much more than a few, long moments for Alnesr to return, the scent of blood still lingering on his robes to anyone who had the training to discern it.


	99. Truth

Turning his eyes back to the man who was most likely to be Demetris himself – he acted the part well enough – Altaïr leaped lightly down from the rafters. The concubines who had been the focus of the man’s attention all scattered, some of them screaming at the sight of the pair of Assassins.

 

“This isn’t a public house, for God’s sake! Remove yourselves, paupers, before I call the guards!”

 

“We’re here on business, Demetris,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he and Alnesr closed with the man. “We’re looking for one of your clients. A killer.”

 

Alnesr folded his arms across his chest, clearly attempting to appear more imposing than his still-short stature would have otherwise been. Although, Altaïr rather thought that his brother Assassin’s uncanny, yellow eyes made up for quite a bit.

 

“What makes you think _I_ know where to find such a man?” Demetris demanded, his eyes flicking briefly to Alnesr where he stood. “I deal in textiles, not cutthroats.”

 

“The, what is to be made of the rumor that Bouchart hired you to sneak him through the ports this morning?” he returned, curious to know just what this man’s answer would be.

 

“You- you’re crazy! I would never work with such a vile man as Bouchart, no matter _how_ much money he offered!” Demetris shouted vehemently.

 

Altaïr was not entirely certain that he should trust the word of the man before him, and yet it _had_ been a Templar who had directed him to this man. It was entirely possible that, much as he disliked the thought, that he and Alnesr had been deceived once more. However, the next words out of the man’s mouth put paid to that supposition.

 

Before either he or Alnesr could act on what they had just heard, Demetris collapsed to the ground. The knife that had been buried up to its hilt in the portly man’s back was revealed then, and Altaïr looked back down along the weapon’s trajectory to determine if he could find the man responsible for murdering Demetris. He found himself instinctively activating his second-sight; he found an enemy sitting atop the roof, crouched just outside the large opening in the roof that Altaïr had briefly taken note of when he and Alnesr had made their way into the building.

 

As he and his brother Assassin gave chase to the man, following him for a few, long moments as he made his way to some destination that Altaïr found himself particularly curious about, Altaïr had the sudden, unpleasant feeling that he was being led into a trap of one sort or another. Or, at the very least, being distracted from an important matter. Alighting on a rooftop, he called for Alnesr to halt as well.

 

“What troubles you, brother?”

 

“I begin to think that we should not be so swift to follow that man,” he said, seeing the confusion on Alnesr’s face and knowing that he himself would have wanted an explanation if their positions had been reversed. “He seemed rather too eager to lead us astray.”

 

“Perhaps,” his brother Assassin said, looking out in the direction that the man they had previously been chasing had departed in. “Still, do you think it’s truly prudent to allow this man to escape uncontested? I could pursue him, myself.”

 

He still felt uneasy about the prospect, but this was one of the few times that Alnesr had been willing to suggest something to him without the uncertainty that had seemed to plague him all the stronger since his interactions with the Apple. And, in particular, the revelation of the man in black and the fact that Alnesr had seemed so blind to his presence. Altaïr did not wish to rob his brother Assassin of that certainty, and yet he could not deny the unease he still felt.

 

“If you feel it necessary to find out what that man was dispatched for, you have my leave to do so,” he said.

 

It was not as though his brother Assassin _needed_ such a thing, considering his present rank, but Altaïr had come to realize that Alnesr seemed most comfortable when operating under his guidance. It was a habit that he would clearly have to work at breaking, if the younger Assassin were to be expected to take an Apprentice of his own in turn, but all of those concerns were for later. At present, more pressing concerns were at hand.

 

“I thank you for your confidence, brother,” Alnesr said, smiling in gentle gratitude to him, before turning to leave, following the same rout his quarry had taken over the rooftops of Limassol.

 

“Good hunting, brother,” he muttered, forcing himself back to his feet so that he could begin making his own way back to the safehouse that the Resistance maintained in this area.

 

The building itself was not difficult to find, at least when one was traversing the rooftops and hand been there previously, and so Altaïr made good time on his way back. The unease that he had been feeling had not been diminished in any real way by the decreasing distance, and so it was that he returned to the safehouse almost _expecting_ something to have gone wrong. What he found there did not serve to allay his suspicions.

 

If anything, it only served to worsen them.

 

He found that the safehouse he was standing in had been completely deserted by the time he had made his way inside once more, and Altaïr did not like the conclusions that he was drawing in light of such an occurrence. However, with Templar agents at large in the city around him, and the clear knowledge that they had already managed to infiltrate the Resistance before, Altaïr could no more deny the likelihood of another infiltrator than he could stop himself from wondering at Alnesr’s progress in tracking Demetris’ killer.

 

The sight of a scrap of paper laying atop a barrel on the far side of the room, what turned out to be a note from Alexander, asking that the two of them meet in the courtyard of the nearby castle, did nothing to dissuade his suspicions. If anything, finding the safehouse empty only served to heighten them all the more. Still, he knew that he would not be able to learn anything if he did not act.

 

And so Altaïr made his way back out of the safehouse, determined to find out just what it was that Alexander – or else, the Templar agent who had been playing that selfsame part – wanted with him at Limassol Castle.

 

When he had managed to make his way back to that place, Altaïr paused for a moment to call up his second-sight once more. While it _was_ true that he did not relish the thought of becoming overly dependant on even such a marvelous sense as the second-sight he had awakened when he was younger even than Alnesr when the pair of them had been given to each other as Master and Apprentice, neither did he enjoy the thought of such a talent going to waste simply because he feared becoming too dependant upon it.

 

When he finally made it into the courtyard of Limassol Castle, Altaïr found himself facing an empty courtyard.

 

His unease only grew, as he continued on his way deeper into the courtyard. The lack of guards in the courtyard and archers on the ramparts of the castle whose shadow he was currently standing in only served to make his unease all the more acute. As he continued deeper into the empty courtyard, the sight of Alexander’s lifeless body was, while not remotely a surprise considering what he had come to expect from this day of all days, still served as a grim reminder that his trials were not yet done.

 

Sparing a thought for Alnesr, hoping that his brother Assassin was holding his own against whatever it was that he might have been facing during his pursuit of Demetris’ killer, Altaïr continued forward.

 

Crouching next to Alexander’s body – the body that he could not help but to identify as the leader of this cell of the Cypriots’ Resistance, given all that he had seen in merely the past day – Altaïr turned the corpse onto its back. A single glimpse of the corpse’s face was all Altaïr needed to confirm his suppositions, and Altaïr closed his eyes in brief remembrance. He’d not managed to do so much good here in Cyprus at all, and could have easily been said to have done more harm than good by coming out this way.

 

Still, it was his duty as a member of the Brotherhood – to say nothing of the fact that he was now Mentor of the Levantine Assassins – to challenge the oppression of the common citizens whenever he bore witness to such a thing occurring.

 

“A friend of yours?” a voice called out from behind him.

 

Turning swiftly, Altaïr found himself dazzled by the sun for a long moment, before he raised his left arm to block the light and was hence able to see more of the man standing on a balcony above him. The man wore white robes emblazoned with a Templar cross, already giving Altaïr reason to dislike him, and stood with legs apart as though to declaim himself some kind of conquering hero.

 

“You,” he snapped, narrowing his eyes at the man, even as he tensed himself for the combat that was certain to be coming; his personal feelings about this man aside, Altaïr had never been a friend to Templars. “I didn’t catch your name.”

 

“What did I tell you and your boy back in Kyrenia?” the spy asked, and Altaïr could nearly _hear_ the mocking smirk in his very tone. “Barnabas, wasn’t it?” the spy made a brief show of looking about for someone, and Altaïr had a moment of relief that – whenever this man had planned – Alnesr would at the very least be away from it. “By the by, where _is_ your boy? Has he gotten lost, perchance?”


	100. The Apple’s power

Before any other words could be exchanged between the pair of them, Altaïr began to hear the rising shouts of a crowd beginning to gather around him, and it was then that he came to fully realize how thoroughly the spy before him had managed to lay his trap. The citizens now gathering around him had begun to call for his head in earnest, and as Altaïr searched for a way to extricate himself from his current situation without attacking the citizens around him – an action that would have shattered their faith in both the Brotherhood and the Cypriot Resistance itself – he seized upon the Apple itself.

 

He hesitated for a long moment, not wishing to enthrall the minds of the citizens around him – and, beyond that, not knowing what kind of effect it would have on Alnesr, even so far away as he was – but, in the end, he knew that he would not be able to avoid bloodshed if he did not act. And so, gathering himself in the same way that he’d done before diving into the Apple to pull Alnesr free of it, Altaïr held the item aloft.

 

Even as he did so, however, Altaïr made a personal vow that he would never use the Apple for such a thing again.

 

Diaphanous light spilled out of the Apple, spreading over the crowd almost as though it were a liquid, and the crowd as a whole seemed to stop in its collective tracks.

 

“Armand Bouchart is the man responsible for your misery,” he said, watching the expressions of the people around him, even as they were calmed under the unnatural influence of the Apple. “He is the one who hired this man to poison the Resistance against itself. Go from this place, and rally your men. Cyprus will soon be yours once again.”

 

Even saying that much was an effort for him, though not in the way that another might have thought had they been watching. Commanding the attention of these people was a terribly easy thing, with the Apple in his hands and a crowd of citizens before him, but Altaïr knew his duty as a member of the Brotherhood. Pulling his mind free from the Apple with some effort, watching as the citizens who had once been so misguidedly eager to take his life slowly turned away and began making their way back out into the city.

 

For a long moment, Altaïr stared down at the Apple, resting easily in his hands. The sphere seemed almost too small, for all that it could cause to happen, and all the power that it clearly exerted over the minds of men. To say nothing of the man in black, or what always seemed to happen to Alnesr when he came into contact with the artifact.

 

“Quite a toy you have there,” the spy said, drawing his attention back to where the man stood on the balcony, even as Altaïr tucked the Apple safely away. “Mind if I borrow it?”

 

Turning to confront the spy, with a personal vow that the Apple would only leave his possession if he died in this battle, Altaïr prepared himself for combat. However, just as the spy was preparing to leap down from the balcony he had been standing upon, a sword pierced his chest from behind. Altaïr watched, in curiosity and hopeful anticipation, as the still-bleeding corpse of the spy fell to the ground. Behind where the man had been standing, now revealed to him, was the familiar form of Maria.

 

About to call out in askance as to where Alnesr might have been, he saw his brother Assassin making his own way over the ramparts and onto the balcony where Maria stood. It was clear that the both of them had been through a fight of their own, but Altaïr was simply pleased that neither one of them appeared injured, or overly troubled.

 

“There, now you see what manner of weapon the Apple could prove to be, in the wrong hands,” this he directed at Maria, as she stood atop the balcony and Alnesr leaped lightly down.

 

“I don’t know that I’d call yours the _right_ hands,” Maria returned, her eyes having briefly followed Alnesr as he moved.

 

“No, you’re right,” he admitted; it was not a safe thing, toying with the Apple as he had, even though he’d acted to spare the lives of the citizens all about him. “I will destroy it, or else find a way to hide it. Until Alnesr and I have found the archive, I can’t say.”

 

“Well, look no further,” Maria said, sweeping her right arm wide to indicate the large space they were all inside. “You’re standing on it.”

 

The sounds of running feet, followed quickly by the familiar shouts of Templar soldiers, drew his attention to the doors just before they were thrown open once again. The trio burst in, and Altaïr heard the sound of Alnesr unsheathing his own blade as the pair of them turned to confront the men now standing before them. Maria called something from up above, but Altaïr found that he could not pay attention to such a thing at the moment.

 

Once he and Alnesr had dealt with the last of the three who had attempted to stand against them, Altaïr turned his eyes back to where Maria had been standing. He found her staring down at the pair of them with a distinctly unimpressed expression.

 

“If the two of you are quite finished, we might be able to come to the _real_ reason the pair of you came to this place.”

 

“Of course, Maria,” he said, permitting himself a small smile, as he was far enough from her sight that she was not likely to be able to make out his every expression.

 

There was a certain, satisfied finality to the way Maria nodded after he’d spoken, and as he and Alnesr climbed and leaped up and over the balcony and then over the ramparts themselves, Altaïr wondered just what it was that the three of them would ultimately find when they reached the end of the path they were currently on. Reaching the door at the end of the hallway they currently stood in, Altaïr watched as Maria stepped forward to push it open.


	101. Troubling thoughts

Once the three of them had made it through, Altaïr smiling slightly as Maria took up a position at the forefront of their triangle-formation, he heard the doors they had just come through slamming closed behind them. As they began descending the staircase that spiraled down into the dark depths, torches casting only flickering, insubstantial light on the Templar crosses all around them, Altaïr took note of the state of the building.

 

There were rather a great deal of gaps that they needed to leap across, and beyond that the stonework and mortar looked to be crumbling away in places. It would have been clear to anyone who took the time to observe the state of the building they were all moving through would likely have come to the erroneous conclusion that it was entirely abandoned. It _was_ a useful ruse, disguising a place that was truly important as no more than a deserted ruin, but he doubted that such a thing could be managed in the long run.

 

At the very least, the structural integrity of the building was likely to give out sooner than later, necessitating a move.

 

Still, such a consideration might have very well made this place all the more attractive to the Templars; he did not know their thoughts, and was no longer so arrogant as to claim to be able to discern them from such small things as he was observing while their trio had been pressing ever deeper into this particular stronghold. Spreading out once the three of them had reached a wide chamber whose floor was scattered with sand, Altaïr made to search for the guards who would doubtless be present in such a place as this.

 

Maria was the one who spotted them, in the end, and the two men died in a hail of thrown knives from him and Alnesr.

 

The place where the three of them stood, for just a moment before they all began to move forward again, seemed far more open and airy than he would have previously expected of a place where the Templars had chosen to shelter even a part of their holdings. Perhaps such _had_ been the point, but Altaïr could not help wondering just which of them had been the one to suggest such a place. And also, what reception the idea had gotten from his brothers-in-arms.

 

Neither of those two musings were in any way relevant to his current task, however, and so Altaïr put them aside as he continued on his way down, holding his place on Maria’s right.

 

A glance at Alnesr let him know that his brother Assassin was also preparing himself for the battle that they were about to undertake, against the leader of the Templar contingent in this place at last, and he felt both pride and sorrow at the thought of what he would soon be doing. It was something he held in common with Al Mualim… or, perhaps the traitor had been lying, in an effort to off-balance him so he would not turn the full skill he had learned during his life on him. Forcing those thoughts aside, Altaïr turned his thoughts toward Bouchart once more.

 

Looking forward once more, Altaïr saw that the three of them were about to pass under a large arch that had been decorated with a Templar cross at the apex. Turning his eyes back to the path before their trio, he saw that they were about to step into a large chamber, what looked like some kind of ceremonial area. The chamber itself was ringed with stone pillars, and Bouchart was standing in the center of it, looking up at them with clear disapproval.

 

“Witless Emperor Comnenus,” Bouchart snapped, his tone full of contempt. “He was a fool, but he was _our_ fool. For almost a decade, we operated without interference on this island. Our Archive was the best-kept secret on Cyprus. Unfortunately, even the best-laid plans were not immune to Issac’s idiocy.”

 

 _For almost a decade,_ Altaïr reflected, narrowing his eyes and taking a step forward. “He angered King Richard and brought the English a little too close for comfort. Is that it? Purchasing what you already controlled?”

 

“And look where _that_ got us,” Bouchart confirmed, his tone one of controlled fury. “Ever since you and yours turned up and started sticking your noses into too many dark corners, the Archive has not been safe.”

 

“I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I tend to get what I want,” he said, projecting the bravado he didn’t feel in his tone; there was something wrong… something he’d not yet seen, but something that was present before him.

 

“Oh, not this time, Assassins,” Bouchart said, wearing a fierce grin on his face. “Not now. Our little detour to Kyrenia gave us just enough time to dismantle the Archive and move it.”

 

 _Of course,_ he mused, growling deep in his throat; it wasn’t a meager Archive that he and his had been making their way through, no. Indeed, it was the paltry, unwanted remains of a much larger showing. Annoyed with himself, that he hadn’t thought to examine the motives of the Templars, or at least to dispatch some of his fellow Assassins within Cyprus to monitor their activities. “You weren’t shipping artifacts _to_ Cyprus, you were shipping them out.”

 

“Exactly,” Bouchart said, and Altaïr narrowed his eyes at the man’s nod. “However, not _everything_ must be taken,” Altaïr narrowed his eyes all the more, as Bouchart smiled thinly at them. “You and the traitor may stay here, and I will take the child and the Apple back to my Order.”

 

“Take me, will you?” he heard Alnesr mutter, and smiled thinly himself.


	102. Armand Bouchart

Bouchart leaped forward, into the newly-drawn swords of himself, Maria, and Alnesr as they all stepped forward to meet his charge. Breathing as deeply and steadily as he could manage during the course of the battle they were all participating in, Altaïr fell almost naturally into the triangular formation that had formed around Bouchart as the three of them continued to battle. Bouchart seemed to have no clear idea of what to do, now that he was surrounded and being slowly, relentlessly picked apart by the trio surrounding him.

 

Smiling slightly as Bouchart began to flag at last, the man bleeding and sweating and flailing at whichever one of them he was capable of reaching, Altaïr flowed into another slice just as Alnesr’s and Maria’s own swords bit deep into the flesh of the Templar they had surrounded and drove him down to the ground at last. Running the Templar through at the same moment as his compatriots, he stepped back and pulled out his sword as Bouchart collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

 

It was with some sense of satisfaction that he watched the Templar fall, but Altaïr pushed that aside and focused on what the Templar seemed to want to say to him.

 

“You are, a credit to your Creed…” the dying Templar gasped.

 

“And you have strayed from yours,” he said; Altaïr found that he could actually feel pity for this man, even if only at the last.

 

“Not strayed,” Bouchart wheezed. “Expanded. The world is more complicated than most people dare to admit. And if you, Assassin… if you and your kind knew more than how to murder, you might understand this.”

 

“Save your lectures on morality, Armand,” Maria snapped, before he could say anything. “We both know that you were never one to follow them.”

 

“Ah,” Bouchart smiled tiredly, as he continued to bleed out upon the stones. “Is that, then, why you chose to betray us?”

 

Maria scoffed, but gave no answer to the Templar’s question. Altaïr suspected that he knew the answer where Bouchart did not, but he was not about to say a word about that, either.

 

“You may die, knowing that I will not allow the Apple of Eden to fall into any hands but my own,” he said, looking down upon the man.

 

“Keep it close,” Bouchart said, with an ironic smile. “You will come to the came conclusions we did… in time…”

 

Bouchart’s eyes fell closed, and the man died with that same, ironic smile on his face. Altaïr sighed, but he had little time to gather himself, before he heard the sharp retort of cannon fire and was forced to step quickly out of the way of a sudden fall of broken stone and other debris. It seemed as though the Templars would not be satisfied with merely sending _one_ of their own to kill him, instead they were shelling the building in an effort to see that none of them escaped from the building at all.

 

Maria took the lead again, owing to the fact that she was the most likely to know a faster way out than attempting to retrace their steps through the crumbling maze that the building was swiftly becoming.

 

Soon enough, with no more than a few close calls involving falling stones and other debris, the three of them made it out into the open air and bright light of Limassol’s port. Breathing deeply, he lay down on the sidewalk and tried his best to catch his breath, even as the Templars continued to shell the castle that had once held the Templars’ Archive. Closing his eyes slightly, Altaïr looked over at Alnesr and Maria where they lay.


	103. Maria’s choice

“Are the two of you all right?” he asked, turning slightly so that he would be able to face his brother Assassin and the woman he could now freely admit that he was coming to care for.

 

He received weary confirmations from the pair of them, and sighed in relief. Laying back down once more, breathing deeply of air that was beginning to smell distinctively of stone dust, Altaïr settled against the low wall. Half-closing his eyes, even as he heard the shelling continuing on, Altaïr allowed himself to relax for a few, long moments. Then, during a lull in the shelling, Altaïr stood back up, called to his compatriots, and the three of them made their way out to the edges of the former castle.

 

Finding a spot that would be outside the arc of the cannons the Templars were steadily using to demolish even the remains of the castle that they had held what artifacts had made the Templars so dangerous to those that they had deemed enemies, Altaïr sat down against the base of another wall. Alnesr and Maria settled down on either side of him, and he smiled as his brother Assassin leaned against him.

 

The three of them stayed that way, each resting from the ordeal now behind them, as the sun made its slow path across the sky.

 

When he felt rested enough to stand again, Altaïr rose back to his feet, helping Alnesr to stand back on his own. He’d a moment’s thought to offer the same courtesy to Maria, he found that she had already stood up once more. She gave him a rather sardonic smile in return, and the three of them began making their way along the docks. Altaïr wondered what Maria was thinking.

 

“Everything I worked for in the Holy Land, I no longer want,” Maria said, before Altaïr could begin to articulate the questions brimming in his mind; and, at that same moment, removing all need for them. “And, everything I gave up to join the Templars… I wonder where it went, and if I might try to find it again.”

 

“Will you return to England, then?” he asked, not knowing even then what he would want her answer to be.

 

“No. I’m so far afield already, I’ll continue on… east. To India, perhaps. Or until I fall off the edge of the world,” she turned back to him, and Altaïr thought that there was a shadow of a smile on her face. “And what of you and yours, Assassin?”

 

“For a long time, under Al Mualim, I thought my life had reached its limit, and that my sole duty was to guide others to the same precipice I stood upon,” he glanced briefly to Alnesr, who smiled in response.

 

“Yes,” Maria said, nodding with a reflective sort of smile. “I felt the same way, once.”

 

“As terrible as this artifact is, it contains wonders,” he said, removing the Apple from the satchel concealed within his robes. “I would like to understand it as best I may,” he continued.

 

There was also the matter of the man in black, and just what he might have wanted. Perhaps he would even be able to find out what connection the man had with Alnesr, though with his brother Assassin present, he wasn’t going to speak of those desires. He’d no wish to cause his brother Assassin further distress, and the fact that he could not remember the presence of the one within the Apple, even when he had held it in his own hands, was bound to cause just what he would want to avoid.

 

Whatever else happened, he _was_ going to have answers for that.

 

“You tread a thin line, Altaïr,” Maria warned, the look in her eyes telling him that she had guessed at the deeper meaning of his words.

 

“I know,” he said, with a slow, solemn nod. “But I have been ruined by curiosity, Maria. I wish to meet all the best minds, explore all the libraries of the world, and learn all the secrets of nature and the universe.”

 

“All in a single lifetime?” Maria asked, fond amusement in her eyes now. “It’s a little ambitious, Assassin. And what of you, little one? You’ve been so silent all this time.”

 

“I will follow where Altaïr leads,” Alnesr said loyally, a smile on his own face. “My Brother has never guided me down the wrong path.”

 

Altaïr did not know if he would have been so swift to forget the mistakes – and he could see so many of them, with the benefit of hindsight and his hard-won wisdom – that he had made with regards to Alnesr, Al Mualim, and the things that he had done in the past that was all too recent by his reckoning. Still, even if it could be called a child’s fancy, Altaïr appreciated Alnesr’s loyalty.

 

“Well then, where will the pair of you go first?” Maria asked, and Altaïr wondered if he was simply imagining the invitation in her tone; he rather thought the challenge would have been audible even to someone who did _not_ know her.

 

Still, there was no more question in his mind that he wished to have Maria in his life, and he rather thought that the feeling had become mutual, during the time that they had spent walking beside one another. True, they had been at cross purposes in the beginning, but here and now they seemed to have come to an understanding. Some might have considered his actions self-serving, but he did not wish to give that up.

 

“I think we shall head east.”


	104. To the future

The smile Maria turned on him was challenging, and Altaïr answered it with one of his own. Not only a challenge, but a promise: that the pair of them would stand together, not only against whatever else might think to harm them, but through the other struggles that living in the would that they did would inevitably bring them. Of course, it would not be so simple as merely deciding that they wished to spend their lives together, but this would be a start.

 

Another beginning, in a life filled with ends and beginnings both.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

They did indeed travel east, as Altaïr and Maria had both decided upon, and Alnesr soon found himself coming into contact with those members of the Brotherhood who had never set foot within the walls of Masyaf. It was not an experience that he would have ever thought to have, but that did not mean that he scorned it. Far from it, in fact; having the chance to speak with those who had never heard of the Levantine Brotherhood – or else knew of it only distantly – was one of the most interesting things he had done in several years.

 

During the course of their travels, Altaïr and Maria grew all the closer, and nearly two years to the day after the debacle at Limassol, the pair of them were returning to the island to be wed. Naturally, he was called upon to play a part, and while he was happy to do such, he still found the concept rather odd. He’d not have expected to attend the wedding of an Assassin to a Templar, even a former one such as Maria had declared herself.

 

Still, the event itself seemed to go as well as one could expect such a thing to proceed, and soon enough Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad and Maria Thorpe had been wed.

 

There was not so much of a change in their lives as Alnesr would have thought, but perhaps such a thing was because the two of them were of such a kind as to understand each other without the difficulties that others seemed to find. Whatever the reason, however, Alnesr was happy that his brother had found happiness after all the hardship he had faced during the course of their shared lives.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

When he was able to take some time for himself, away from those who might have been adversely affected by what he was about to attempt – Alnesr in particular, since he was not about to risk his brother Assassin’s wellbeing merely for the sake of satisfying his curiosity; no matter _how_ such a thing had gnawed at him – Altaïr took the Apple of Eden from the small chest he kept just underneath his bed. Holding the artifact in the palms of both his hands, he noticed the traceries of light flashing through the grooves in the artifact for a long moment, before dismissing them from his mind and delving into the Apple itself.


	105. Troubling developments

It seemed a mere moment before he saw the form of the man in black once more; seemingly walking out of the light within the Apple, and then circling around him as though the man believed himself some sort of predator. His first impression of the man in black – hood up and voluminous robes billowing about him as he stalked in a tight circle, always keeping Altaïr within the sight of his hidden eyes; the only visible part of his face dominated by the wide, amused smirk he was wearing – did not seem to be a favorable one, and so Altaïr resolved to be on his guard around this man. Whoever he was, it was clear that this man was dangerous.

 

When he reached up with black-gloved hands to remove his hood, Altaïr found himself beholding the face of the man in black for only the second time since he had become aware of his presence within the Apple.

 

The first things that anyone else was apt to notice were his bright, deep yellow eyes, and the veritable waterfall of silver hair that cascaded over his shoulders, and even framed the sides of his face. However, having spent so many years living with and working beside Alnesr had inured him to the oddities of his brother Assassin’s appearance, and so Altaïr was able to look beyond such ultimately minor things and see the true nature of the man before him. He had a look of avarice about him, and in that way the man in black was more akin to Al Mualim than he had suspected at first.

 

Such was clearly not a man that could be trusted.

 

The man in black tilted his head slightly, then raised his right hand. At a momentary loss as to what the man in black wished him to do, Altaïr paused for a moment to see what he would do next. The man in black tilted his head slightly, as though beckoning him forward, and Altaïr stepped forward with his own right hand held out.

 

When he reached out to touch the man’s right hand, his fingers passing through the man’s own up to the palm, Altaïr…

 

_… he saw a room of high thrones, and the faces of other men passed before him… a one-eyed man whose long, black hair was heavily shot through with gray… a man whose heavy features were shadowed by a myriad of long, thin black braids… a vulpine-featured man with a great deal of long, pale blond hair… another man with heavy features, this one with bright, coppery-red hair, and a frame almost as large as the Bull in Kantara Castle… a young man with dark hair shadowing half of his face, and a certain scholarly air about him… a man whose hair was longer than any of the others Altaïr had seen before, who had a wild fringe of hair on the top of his head… two children, one fair-haired and one dark… and finally, a man with a bald pate; he only glimpsed this one from the back, and so could merely catch sight of the long, black robes the man seemed to possess, before Altaïr found himself…_

Standing before the man in black, surrounded by bright, colorless, coruscating light that seemed almost apt to reach out and embrace the pair of them.

 

“Who are you?” he asked, as the man in black, once he had pulled his hand away and held it at his side again.

 

“Nobody in particular,” the man in black said, the shadow of a sly smile lurking on his face. “I _am_ pleased to meet you, however, Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad.”

 

“You learned of me from Alnesr, yes?” he asked, forcing himself not to narrow his eyes in response; he did not know how this man would react to any hint of open suspicion.

 

“Indeed,” the man in black said, the sly smile on his face coming becoming fully visible at last. “He and I have become quite well-acquainted during the time we’ve had together. And, I _would_ like to thank you for taking care of him so well as you have.”

 

“Of course,” he said, still wary of the man before him. “How long have you been here?” the man in black merely chuckled, softly, in response to his question. “How did you first come to be within the Apple?” The man in black gave merely an amused smile. “Is there anything that you _will_ deign to tell me?” he asked at last, beginning to become exasperated, in addition to suspicious.

 

“Your Alnesr isn’t the only one of those who bear my imprint,” the man in black said, reaching up to replace his hood once more. “When you meet them, during your travels, do keep that in mind.”

 

 _The light around him pulsed strongly,_ and Altaïr found himself once again within the room in Limassol that he had taken for his own. He suspected that he’d not actually left in any real sense, and that anyone who had been present while he was speaking would have been able to tell him just the same. He did not know that they would have remained unaffected by his presence, and therefore until he could determine just what the man in black might want, he was not going to risk exposing anyone else to the man.

 

Gathering himself, Altaïr carefully tucked the Apple back into the satchel he used to transport it those times when he needed to move the artifact and remain unnoticed while doing so, and then tucked the satchel away in a drawer near his bed. Once he had managed to secure the artifact well enough that he was no longer concerned that someone who might not be so able as he was, to see the man in black for who he truly was, would chance to come across it.

 

He might not have gained the man’s name, but a name was truly the least of the various aspects of a man’s life.


	106. Matters of family

Leaving Limassol behind, to resume their journey east, Maria couldn’t help but take note of the increasing amount of time Altaïr would spend locked in his chambers, the lights showing under the door indicating that he was looking into the Apple. The fact that he had been able to tell her the future of the small family they were beginning to build for themselves had had to be weighed against her husband’s increasing obsession with the artifact, and her husband’s obsession was beginning to win out.

 

The amount of time he would spend looking into the artifact was steadily growing longer, and even the presence of Alnesr here with him in Masyaf was not bringing him back to his senses; if anything, it seemed to _encourage_ him to pursue the secrets that might lay within the Apple.

 

She knew that this situation of theirs couldn’t go on as it was currently, for Darim’s sake if none other, and she had made up her mind to confront him about his obsession this very night. Maria only hoped that she could make Altaïr see reason at last.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Settling back into the room that Altaïr had granted him after their return to Masyaf, Alnesr found himself wondering how his mentor – now fully instated as the Master of the Levantine Assassins – was faring. Maria had spoken to him of her misgivings about the increasing amount of time he spent gazing into the depths of the Apple, but as Alnesr himself could never quite recall his thoughts when he was in the presence of the artifact, he hadn’t yet attempted to speak to his mentor about that matter.

 

However, as it was morning and he had not yet broken his fast, Alnesr was making his way down to the main dining area so that he would be able to do so.

 

Passing a fair few of his brother Assassins in the corridors, Alnesr caught snatches of talk from small gatherings of them along the way. He did not pause to listen to them, as he would not have wished any of them to intrude on his own conversations, but given what he _was_ able to hear as he passed them all by, it seemed as though Altaïr had indeed regained the confidence of those present here. He was glad for it, as while his mentor had indeed made a grave misjudgment when he had first attempted to take the life of Robert de Sable within Solomon’s Temple, Altaïr had also used the lessons he had learned to grow as both a man and an Assassin.

 

When he made it into the main dining area, however, Alnesr found that Abbas was in the same area. More than that, the man was looking in his direction. He did not know what to make of the expression on Abbas’ face, as he had deliberately chosen a seat as far from the man as he could manage. He’d no care if it appeared that he was attempting to flee from the man who had once been as close as Altaïr still was, nor the impression that he was giving to his brother Assassins who were eating alongside him.

 

When he had finally finished his meal and was hence able to leave the dining area, Alnesr quickly gathered himself and departed.

 

He could hear the sound of another man following him, and while he hoped that it was not Abbas who was pacing him through the corridors, he knew that the length of the man’s stride was very similar to the last time he had heard it. It was not a situation he enjoyed being in, but he was beginning to suspect that he would not be able to evade such a situation for as long as he would wish. Steeling himself for what he was going to face, Alnesr turned and stopped in an unused study.

 

“I was hoping that I would have the chance to speak with you again.”

 

Turning to confront the man who had spoken such words to him, he found that it was indeed Abbas.

 

“Why did you pursue me, Abbas?” he asked, drawing away slightly as the man himself stepped forward; he’d no true antipathy for the man as he was, but the feel of strong fingers closing out his life was not one he would soon forget.

 

“I’d not known how to approach you before this day, my boy,” the man said, a gentle smile coming to his face; Alnesr thought it appeared rather false on the surface, but he of all people could hardly deny that a man was capable of change that others might not be willing to grant the possibility of. “I’d some hope that I might be given the chance to make amends.”

 

“May I have time to consider your words, Abbas?” he asked, belatedly realizing that he had been unconsciously tracing the paths of the bruises that had once been visible upon his neck when Abbas’ expression shifted into one of contrition.

 

“Of course, my boy,” the man – who Alnesr still could not quite bring himself to think of as his brother Assassin – said. “I’d forgotten… I am truly sorry to say, but I forgot the anguish I had caused to you. I do regret it, my brother, and I will give you what time you may need to come to terms with what I ask of you.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, nodding. “Abbas.”

 

He was not yet prepared to call Abbas brother once more, but Alnesr thought that such might not remain the case for such a long time as he’d thought. If Malik could forgive Altaïr for the mistake he had made – a mistake that had cost Malik far more dearly than Abbas’ mistake had cost him, in the end – then Alnesr himself could hardly be called a brother to Malik if he did not at least attempt to do the same.

 

Departing the empty study where he had spoken to Abbas, Alnesr turned to watch for a moment as the man departed. Not long enough that the man would take note of him doing so, but long enough that he could determine that Abbas was making his way down and out of the fortress. He wondered for a moment just where Abbas was going to go from there, since as far as he could recall Altaïr had not presented the man with a particular mission on this day, and then decided that such a thing was not his business.

 

Aside from that, there were many things that one could do without needing to leave the grounds of Masyaf.


	107. Matters of necessity

“Alnesr, I’m glad to have found you so quickly.”

 

“Maria,” he greeted, as the woman firmly grasped his right arm and began tugging him along. “What do you want of me?”

 

“I’ve tried my damnnest to get that man to see reason; to give up that artifact, and thus break the stranglehold it seems to be tightening over him, but I think that seeing you again will serve to remind him of just what it truly is he risks by continuing to toy with that artifact of his.”

 

He did not truly know how to respond to such a thing, and so Alnesr remained silent, hurrying his steps so that he would not be pulled off-balance by the speed that Maria was traveling. As the pair of them made their way back up to the place that had once been Al Mualim’s study, Alnesr winced slightly as he felt the sensation of something pressing lightly against the sides of his head. He did not know what to truly expect, when he and Maria had made their way into Altaïr’s study at last, but before he could ponder such a thing too long, Alnesr found himself standing before the door to Altaïr’s study.

 

The bright, colorless light seeping out from under the lip of the door made it quite clear what he and Maria were going to be dealing with, once they had made their way inside.

 

Steeling himself once more, knowing all the same that there was little chance that he would be able to so much as glimpse the mysterious “man in black” that Altaïr and Maria had both spoken of seeing during the missing time he had been a victim of, Alnesr followed Maria into his mentor’s study. He found his brother Assassin just beginning to remove the Apple from whatever he used to store the artifact when he was not making use of it.

 

“Right, that’s enough!” Maria snapped, marching decisively over to where Altaïr had seated himself.

 

Alnesr would have been very close behind her, if not for the fact that the pressure on the sides of his head was steadily increasing the longer he spent in Altaïr’s study so close to the Apple. He imagined, just for a moment, that he could see that same flickering, colorless light that he had seen from the artifact before. The pressure around his head – and a strange, indescribable feeling in his chest – steadily increased as he drew closer to the desk where Altaïr was sitting.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

“Alnesr!” he called, just as he saw the first emergence of the man in black from his place within the Apple.

 

Maria acted faster, however, and was able to catch Alnesr before his brother Assassin struck his head on the stone floor of his study.

 

“This has gone on long enough, Altaïr,” Maria snapped, gently settling Alnesr into a nearby chair so that she would be able to speak to him more freely. “That artifact, the man in black within it… Whatever you discover within it, it cannot be worth constantly risking the health, or even the life, of someone you clearly care so much about.”

 

_“She makes an interesting argument, Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad. How will you respond?”_

 

Gathering himself, ignoring the goading words of the man in black, Altaïr forced his thoughts back into some form of organization. “I know that what I do is a risk; I act to mitigate such things as much as I may, and yet… I cannot simply allow the secrets this artifact holds to remain undiscovered, if they will provide new ways and means that I might be able to use to aid us in our struggle against the Templars, and all of those who might seek to deny humanity the freedom to grow and develop as they will.”

 

“Those are very fine words,” Maria said, though she did not sound impressed in the slightest. “However, they sound almost like the ones you said your old Master spoke when _he_ was attempting to sway you back to his side.”

 

“I am not Al Mualim,” he said; it was his determination to be better than the man he had once looked up to in the not-so-distant past that would serve him in dealing with the Apple and the man in black both. “I do thank you for your concern, Maria,” he said, reaching out to clap her right shoulder. “However, I ask that you trust me in these matters. And please, by all means, continue expressing whatever concerns you might have. And, if you would, keep Alnesr out of these matters from now on,” he continued, looking over at where his brother Assassin rested in one of the larger chairs.

 

“Mind that you don’t become so absorbed in chasing shadows that you forget there is a whole world outside that artifact of yours,” Maria said, turning to gather up Alnesr from where he had been resting from his swoon.

 

“As long as I have you to remind me of such a world, I doubt that I will be able to forget so quickly.”

 

Maria gave him a dryly amused look over her shoulder as she turned to leave, and Altaïr smiled in response. Whatever else she thought of his motives, his words were no less true than they had been when he first wed her on Limassol. If anything, his bonds had only been strengthened by the demands that the Apple was placing upon him.

 

_“Interesting…”_


	108. Truth seeker

When he regained consciousness, with Maria helping him to make his way back to his room, Alnesr sighed in frustration. More and more of late, it seemed as though he could not stand within the light of the Apple without suffering for it. And yes, Altaïr had spoken of the times he had seemed to be lost within the light of the artifact, but as he could not truly recall those times, he’d no other word but Altaïr’s own to suggest what had happened. And, while he was not truly questioning the integrity of his brother Assassin, it _was_ truly a strange thing to consider.

 

Though, perhaps not so strange, in light of what he was continuing to see – or rather, _fail_ to see – when he chanced to be in close proximity to the Apple.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

As he continued to study the Apple, in between searching out new areas to establish guilds of his brother and sister Assassins and updating the Codex that he was compiling on the information that he had gained from the Apple and the ideas he had worked out for improving the tools and tactics of the Brotherhood, Altaïr was also making detailed observations on the man in black. He took care to record those findings in another, secret codex that he was keeping for that particular purpose. Everything he had learned about the man in black, precious little from the man’s own words, gave him the impression that the only way he was going to find out anything about the man was through strict observation.

 

The man in black had steadily proven himself to be both self-amused and recalcitrant in the extreme.

 

He had also been observing events in the world at large, both during his travels and through the contacts he had made through the various guilds he had previously established, and given everything that he had learned, Altaïr was growing certain that the man who had come to be known as Genghis Khan was in possession of a Piece of Eden. There were precious few other explanations that he could see, as there was very little chance that a man, even a war leader like the Khan, would be able to amass such a large following purely on natural charisma. Altaïr even doubted that he himself would have been able to unite the many disparate clans that were said to be following this Khan’s banner.

 

This was, therefore, a matter of significantly more importance than his half-successful attempts to establish a sect of the Brotherhood in Constantinople.

 

At the moment, however, his concerns hewed closer to home. He now had two sons whose welfare and training he needed to consider before he made any far-reaching decisions, but as he also had Maria, Alnesr, and Malik to aid him in seeing to those and other matters that he might need to attend to, Altaïr found that he was not so pressed as he may have been otherwise. He was pleased, insomuch as he could be when he knew that there were other matters that would soon require his attention; matters taking shape in a different part of the world, yes, but that was no consolation, given what he suspected.

 

Truly, men in possession of a Piece of Eden were not to be taken lightly; he knew this better than most, and would not soon forget the lesson.

 

Returning his attention to the secondary codex that he was writing, that which detailed his observations and extrapolations upon the nature of the man in black, Altaïr reflected once more upon who he would be able to leave the slender volume with once he himself had come to the end of his lifetime. His main codex was not a thing that the man in black had ever shown any signs of interest in, but Altaïr rather doubted that the same would hold true about a book that was solely dedicated to the man himself. Particularly given how closely-guarded the man in black held any and all secrets about himself.

 

Even to this very day, Altaïr had not heard the man speak his own name.

 

Once he had managed to finish his drawings, detailing what little he could remember of the appearance of the others that he had glimpsed so briefly when he’d first passed into the light of the Apple, Altaïr carefully tucked his secondary codex away where no one else – particularly the man in black, those times when he would see fit to appear from within the artifact for his own incomprehensible reasons – would think to search for it. He was always careful with this secondary codex of his, making certain to keep it out of the way when he was working with the Apple, and in turn keeping the Apple safely out of sight when he was working on this secondary codex. He truly doubted that the man in black, secretive as he so clearly was, would take kindly to the efforts that Altaïr was making to uncover what secrets he could.


	109. Eagle’s eyes

Making his way out to the training ring with Darim and Sef, Alnesr reflected on how strange it felt for him to be doing such a thing. Yes, he _had_ once acted as Altaïr’s Master, but the pair of them had agreed that such a thing had just been one more of Al Mualim’s schemes to destabilize their relationship and so keep the pair of them off-balance so that they would be less able to counter his manipulations with the Apple when they discovered them. Alnesr tried not to think of those times when he could avoid it, since the complicated emotions he still felt about Al Mualim were not something he was quite prepared to deal with, even now.

 

As he directed Sef into the care of Rauf, Alnesr took a moment to thank the aging instructor for assisting him in these matters. He’d known for a rather long time that he was not going to have the chance to become a field Assassin, simply due to his odd appearance; it would take no less than several lifetimes to acclimate anyone who might have encountered him to seeing past such a thing. It was a lesson that had only been reinforced by his encounters with those others that Altaïr had mentioned the mysterious man in black speaking of: those who shared his appearance, if not his exact circumstances.

 

Some of them had been forced from their homes, to wander the streets in an attempt to preserve what they could of their own lives in the face of open hostility from those they encountered; those had, naturally, been foremost among the ones who flocked to Altaïr as he had spoken of what they were attempting to do. He’d been glad of it; to be able to help those whose circumstances mirrored his own to such a great degree, but also shamefully pleased at his own good fortune to escape such an outcome. He hadn’t liked the thought, not wanting to think himself better than those whose circumstances would have been his own if not for a fortunate twist of fate.

 

Still, it _did_ serve to remind him that he was still human, if nothing else.

 

It was Rauf who had first suggested the idea that he become an Instructor and thus aid in the training of his brother Assassins in the Levant. Altaïr had been in favor of the idea nearly as soon as he had heard of it, and even Malik had been supportive. Alnesr had, of course, been pleased by such an outpouring, and so he had volunteered his services to Rauf. First as a trainee himself, and then moving on to more and more difficult assignments.

 

This, here and now, was the culmination of his efforts and his learning.

 

He’d found that, appropriately enough, working with Darim was nearly the same as working with Altaïr had been. Darim had the same intensity and focus as Altaïr, and working with him served to remind Alnesr of all the years he had spent under Altaïr’s own tutelage, both inside Masyaf and in the cities surrounding the fortress. He _was_ pleased by such a thing, but Alnesr could not help reflecting on the strangeness of it.

 

Turning his attention to what it was he was going to have for lunch, now that he had finished working with Darim for the afternoon and was being given some time to eat and refresh himself before he returned to teach more of his brother Assassins the combat skills they would need to survive out in the field. It amused him, sometimes, to think that he would be teaching his brother Assassins to survive in a place he was not likely to return to, but he supposed that Altaïr sometimes felt that way, himself, being the Master of the Assassins and hence spending more and more time in Masyaf.


	110. Shadow over Masyaf

“Alnesr, come!”

 

“Abbas,” he greeted his brother Assassin, nodding to him as he carried over his meal and climbed into the chair that was being offered to him. “How have you been?”

 

“I have been well enough, for my part,” Abbas said, smiling at him as the pair of them began to eat their respective meals. “I’d heard that you’ve taken up the post of instructor from Rauf. A noble profession, that; I’m certain you will bring the Brotherhood credit with your work.”

 

“Thank you, Abbas,” he said, smiling softly.

 

It had become a great deal easier to speak to his brother Assassin, over the intervening years that the pair of them had spent repairing their relationship. True, there still remained times when he would recall the feel of Abbas’ hands closing around his throat, but those times had lessened dramatically as he had come to renew the closeness that he and Abbas had shared so long ago. He was pleased about that, but he could not help noticing the way that his brother Assassin still seemed to cling to the resentment he felt toward Altaïr.

 

More distressing still was Abbas’ clear reluctance to speak about the breakdown of the relationship that he and Altaïr had once shared; it had been many years since the pair of them had parted on terms that could not have been considered remotely amicable.

 

Still, now was not the time for his attempts at getting Abbas to see that his was not the only side of the story that he and Altaïr had both lived; to say nothing of Abbas’ clear distaste for the topic, Alnesr himself had his own duties to concern himself with. Once he had finished with his meal, Alnesr swiftly returned to the mid-sized building beside the training ring. Soon enough, another group of students would come to him wanting instruction, and it was now his duty to see that they had it.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Time passed, as it was wont to do, and Altaïr soon found that he could no longer afford to delay his dealings with Genghis Khan. Darim and Sef had grown well, under the tutelage of Alnesr and his fellow instructors. He himself would have never thought to see his former Apprentice among the ranks of Labib, Rauf and the others like them, but as Alnesr’s appearance was not one that would serve him when he was in the field – something he felt that the man in black was responsible for, given his words and the way he acted – Altaïr was pleased to know that his brother Assassin had found a place that suited him.

 

At the very least, Alnesr had managed to make a place for himself in Masyaf.

 

Making his way out of his study at last, having gathered everything that he would need considering his aims, Altaïr turned at the sight of the man in black.

 

_“Best of luck, Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad.”_

 

There was a small, self-satisfied smirk on the man’s face, just before he vanished back into the depths of the Apple once more. Shaking his head, knowing by now that the man in black wasn’t one to reveal his thoughts unless there was something for him to gain in the doing. It was yet another reason for his distrust of the man, and also why he kept his work on items – particularly that extremely dense, yet almost feather-light metal alloy that he had worked with Alnesr to forge into a suit of armor – that he had manufactured with the aid of the Apple a secret from the man in black.

 

He was not such a fool as to idly trust the words of a man who made himself so deliberately mysterious; he’d learned every lesson that he might need on such a subject from Al Mualim.

 

Speaking to Darim and Sef both, directing his eldest to pack for a journey to the territories held by Genghis Khan and his devoted followers and his youngest to stay behind so that he could care for his family and attend to his training, Altaïr then turned his path toward Alnesr. His brother Assassin would naturally want to know where it was that he was going, and he’d no desire to worry the younger man unduly.

 

“Alnesr,” he called, once he came into sight of the training ring and was thus able to determine that it was empty. “I would speak with you, brother.”

 

“Of course, brother,” his former Apprentice said, turning to look his way with a slight bow; Altaïr wondered idly if he would ever lose such a habit. “You look as though you have important matters on your mind.”

 

“I came to inform you that I will be leaving soon,” he said, as he and Alnesr fell into step with one another as they made their way slowly toward the dining area. “The Khan’s depredations have become too numerous to ignore, and I fear he may have managed to lay his hands to another of the artifacts like the Apple. Perhaps the Sword,” he continued, thinking aloud for Alnesr’s benefit.

 

“It sounds as though you have quite a task ahead of you,” Alnesr said, his tone pensive and his gaze going distant for a long moment. “I certainly hope you don’t intend to attempt to take this task on alone, Altaïr.”

 

He chuckled softly, warmed by the concern his former Apprentice was showing for him. “No; I have learned my lesson well about such things, brother. Darim will be accompanying me for this task. I will return as soon as I may, but I simply wished to tell you of my plans in this so you wouldn’t worry about me.”

 

“I know your skill in these matters, brother,” Alnesr said, and he smiled in response to the calmly confident expression on his former Apprentice’s face. “Still, I am pleased to know that you will have one of our brothers beside you. Truth to tell, I _would_ be concerned if you had told me you planned to go alone, no matter how fair-spoken your words were.”

 

“Yes, I rather thought that,” he said, smiling as the pair of them made their way into the dining area and he parted company with Alnesr.

 

Though not without a final farewell on both their parts.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

When Altaïr had left Masyaf behind, in an effort to curb the excesses of Genghis Khan and those people who might not have been following him entirely of their own volition, Malik found himself rather amused at his position. Altaïr had elected to name _him_ leader of the Levantine Brotherhood, and while Malik could hardly deny having wanted the position once, when he and Altaïr were both much younger men, he now knew better just what true leadership entailed. He’d seen such a thing wearing away slowly at his brother Assassin while the pair of them – plus Alnesr, since he had been raised by the man, and naturally shared a close relationship to him – were working side-by-side in Masyaf.

 

He’d little enough desire to take the reins of power after that, but it seemed as though his own desires were not particularly important at the moment; what mattered now, what had always mattered no matter that he hadn’t seen it, was to care for their brother Assassins and see that the Creed was upheld as well as any of them could manage.

 

That was the task before every member of the Brotherhood; from the youngest of the Novices learning their craft at the feet of their scholars, and instructors such as Alnesr and Rauf, to the members of the Brotherhood that carried out their missions in the field with the aid of the Rafiqs working in the cities: all of them worked to preserve, promote, and expand the influence of the Creed. Each of them, in their own way, worked to protect the lives under their care. He was pleased, at least, to be contributing to such an effort.

 

It was not as though someone in his condition would ever be able to return to work as a field Assassin; he and Alnesr had often discussed that very matter, speaking about their own experiences and finding a common ground on such.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Falling into the rhythm of the sword fight as he continued to instruct his students, Alnesr steadied his breathing once more as the pair of them broke apart.

 

“Good work,” he said, smiling in the same way that Rauf had done when the man was aiding in his own training; both as an Apprentice and as his co-instructor while the two of them had been working together.

 

Taking a few moments to speak to his latest group of students, congratulating them and advising where he found it necessary, and then made his way back to the small outbuilding where the tools and trappings of his new trade were stored. Setting down his practice sword on a nearby rack, Alnesr turned and left the room, aiming for one of the washing areas so that he could properly clean himself up before making his way to the dining area.

 

Once he had finished with that, Alnesr made his way into the dining area to get his midday meal.

 

“Come, sit here, Alnesr!”

 

“Abbas,” he greeted, sweeping his gaze over those others seated at the table around his brother Assassin. “Are these men friends of yours?”

 

“This is Swami,” Abbas said, smiling as he gestured to the bald man seated at his right hand. “He and the others are those I have come to know quite well during my time here.”

 

“It’s good to meet you,” he said, a bit uncertain as he settled down among them.

 

He thought that he might have heard Altaïr speaking of them, some time or another while the two of them had been speaking of matters concerning the Brotherhood, but if there _had_ been things that his former master had said about these men in particular, Alnesr couldn’t recall them. Speaking to them as he ate his meal, Alnesr found that they were rather genial sorts, though each and every one of them seemed to hold Abbas in higher regard than anyone else. He did not know if that was a good thing, considering Abbas had still not given up his bitterness toward Altaïr.

 

Swami in particular seemed ready to do far more than merely _sitting_ at Abbas’ right hand.

 

Alnesr did not know what would happen, with Abbas clearly gathering support for some reason or other, but he knew that he would need to speak with Malik. It was clear that Abbas, as amicable as he acted when Alnesr spoke with him during those times when they would sit together to eat, was planning something. He might not have known precisely what it was that Abbas had in mind, but it was still important that Malik was made aware of the matter.

 

Once he was able to part ways with Abbas without raising his brother Assassin’s suspicions, Alnesr made his way back up into the fortress to speak with Malik.


	111. Malik Al-Sayf

Given what Alnesr had told him, Malik found himself watching Abbas more closely than he had been before. It seemed as though the man was gathering the weaker-willed members of the Brotherhood to himself, overawing them in ways a Templar might have done, for some purpose that Malik couldn’t quite determine. He did not yet know if Abbas merely intended to take leadership of the Brotherhood for himself – not an outcome he was at all in favor of, but not the worst he could think of – or if he had some greater goal that wresting leadership of the Brotherhood was just one step of.

 

Either way, however, Malik knew that he would need to keep a closer watch on Abbas’ activities from now on. He’d asked Alnesr to keep him informed of any thing else that Abbas did or said while the pair of them were speaking, and while the younger Assassin had seemed reluctant for a moment, he had agreed once Malik told him of the concerns that Abbas’ behavior was causing. Now, with the extra information that Alnesr’s observations were able to provide for him, Malik found himself rather hard-pressed to believe that an Assassin could be so petty as Abbas was acting.

 

Yes, it _was_ true that Altaïr had wronged them both to varying degrees, but a better man would have seen that their brother Assassin had grown beyond such things through the pain that he had suffered, or at the very least would not have sought to involve anyone but the man who had wronged them in their scheme for revenge. Still, it had become increasingly clear that Abbas no longer cared for anyone but himself; not even those Assassins that he had swayed to his way of thinking would be spared by what he was planning. Malik knew that the same held true for Alnesr, despite how much the younger Assassin might have wished to think otherwise.

 

And, while he himself could understand not wishing to think badly of those who treated him with kindness, Malik knew that he could not allow his brother Assassin to remain blind to Abbas’ glaring flaws as he clearly had been for so long.

 

Knowing all that he knew, Malik was fully aware of just how precarious their situation now was. The people of Masyaf could ill-afford the shadow war that Abbas seemed to be preparing to fight, but as Malik had come to know the unreasonable bitterness that the man had hidden behind his façade of a dutiful member of the Brotherhood, he had come to realize that such a thing was not only inevitable at this point, but that attempting to prevent it by speaking with the man would only bring such a thing on all the more swiftly. With all of that in mind, Malik knew that the only reasonable course of action he could pursue was to prepare to fight the shadow war that Abbas had dedicated himself to provoking.

 

To that end, he himself had begun recruiting those who still remained loyal to the old ways of the Brotherhood – the ways that Abbas had clearly abandoned long ago, and was now all but spitting on in his bitterness and spite – and instructing them to train with Alnesr and Rauf when they could, and also to speak to him of what Abbas and those he had gathered to him were planning when they were given the opportunity.

 

He would not be caught unawares by what Abbas had clearly been planning, nor would he allow the Brotherhood and those they protected to suffer for it; Malik would not forgive himself for such a lapse, to say nothing of what Altaïr’s feelings on the matter were likely to be.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

The signs of impending battle, of a schism within the ranks of the Brotherhood, were becoming more obvious to Alnesr with every day that passed; even to the point where he was honestly beginning to wonder if those living in the village surrounding their fortress were even aware of it. He did not know just what any of them were thinking, and he hoped that they were doing well, but Alnesr found that he could spare them little more thought than that. There was so much already happening, and so little of it that could be allowed to be discovered, that Alnesr found himself with barely a thought to spare for anyone outside the fortress.

 

Sides were being chosen, as they had to be in such a conflict, and even his and Rauf’s own students were not being spared from the push to do so.

 

On one side were those who held true to the ideals of the Brotherhood and the Creed that was meant to guide them all, and on the other were those who Abbas had swayed to his side through false kindness and promises of a kind that Alnesr wasn’t certain that _anyone_ would be capable of delivering on; he’d long since given up any hope of the coming conflict being solved without bloodshed, as Abbas had proven himself unwilling to listen to any viewpoint that might show his actions in anything but the best possible light. And, while he sometimes wished that things could have been different, Alnesr had come to accept that Abbas would never overcome his bitterness toward Altaïr, simply because he did not _want_ to do so.

 

It was a harsh thing, to see a man that he’d thought capable of learning kindness once more rejecting it entirely, but Alnesr had learned well not to allow himself to be blinded by sentiment.

 

Continuing to work with his students, he remained uncomfortably aware of the possibility that he would soon face more than a few of them in combat when the holding-pattern they were in finally broke. He was slightly less fond of that idea than he was of fighting Abbas, owing to the fact that he’d known his students for a longer time when he was capable of reason, and the fact that some of them might have been indoctrinated by their parents, or other elders who held to ideas planted in their minds by Abbas. In the end, however, it was one more thing that Alnesr had forced himself to accept.

 

No one could ever claim that the life of an Assassin was an easy one, but Alnesr sometimes found himself wishing – in spite of all sense – that it was not so hard as he found it in these moments.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

The days proceeded apace, and Malik found that the tension had had been growing as invisible battle-lines were drawn within the fortress. He’d been expecting nothing less, true, but to see it happening nearly before his eyes… No, he’d no desire to see such a thing happening to the Brotherhood he had devoted so much of his life to breaking apart in such a way, but it had become more than clear that Abbas would not be satisfied with anything less than the complete destruction of the Brotherhood for nothing more than the spite he still refused to let go of after all these years.

 

And, for all that he was doing and all that he intended to do, Malik had no more qualms about bringing the full force of those elements of the Brotherhood that remained loyal to their Creed down on Abbas’ fool head; truly, that man had become worse than Altaïr after Solomon’s Temple, and after everything Malik had seen, he knew that there would be no redemption in store.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

As the tensions around him continued to escalate, Alnesr found that the very neutrality that he tried to maintain as an instructor was beginning to turn some of those he sought to teach against him. However, having come to know their faces from the crowds that gathered in what had become Abbas’ space within the dining area, he’d come to accept the fact that he would likely be forced to turn his skills upon them when the battle that Abbas was clearly aiming to provoke finally broke out. He’d not resolved to kill them, as he sincerely doubted that such was something Altaïr would have done or wanted done in his name, but Alnesr did not know if he would be given the opportunity to spare them in the coming battle.

 

He _would_ take advantage of such if it were presented to him, but he would not risk the lives of his brother Assassins to do so.

 

The tension in the dining area was as palpable as it ever was, in these days when even simple words could be twisted into support for one side over another, and Alnesr could almost feel Abbas’ gaze boring into his head where he sat, attempting to eat his midday meal in relative peace. He’d learned quickly not to return the looks Abbas would give him while the two of them were present there, and also that he could hardly hope to avoid the man when he took it upon himself to find him if he was not present in the dining area at his usual time. And, while he’d no wish to be the one to start the conflict that was clearly brewing between the two factions covertly vying for dominance within Masyaf fortress, Alnesr was beginning to think that he would not be able to avoid such a fate, in the end.

 

It was not a thought that he relished in the slightest, however much he was beginning to think it might hold true.

 

Abbas called to him, but Alnesr swiftly passed beyond the reach of the man’s voice, and returned to the training ring to finish his work for the day. He and Rauf had discussed matters, and both of them thought it best if they were not seen declaring themselves for or against either side in the battle that was swiftly approaching. No matter what their personal feelings on the matter at hand, they simply could not allow themselves to be seen as anything but impartial.

 

It was not as though anyone else seemed to be taking the same stance, and their students needed _some_ stability, even though such a thing was clearly not going to last much longer.

 

As he worked with his students, training them for the combat they were all going to face rather sooner than he would have honestly preferred, Alnesr wondered how many of those he was training would end up on the wrong end of his blade when the growing tension within the ranks of the Brotherhood finally snapped. Forcing those thoughts out of his mind – knowing that he would not like the answers in any case, and was going to have them sooner than any of them would prefer – and continued about his rounds. Correcting stances where he needed to, and giving advice where it would apply, Alnesr continued about his work.

 

In the end, every one of them had their parts to play in the coming battle.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

When Alnesr made his way up into the room that Altaïr had once used as his study, and would do so again once he and Darim had returned from dealing with Genghis Khan, Malik sighed as he saw the same tension and weariness that had been weighing him down reflected on the younger Assassin’s face.

 

“Come, sit awhile and speak with me, brother,” he said, both because it was clear that the younger Assassin needed to unburden himself, and because he needed to know what Abbas’ supporters were up to of late.

 

“Thank you, brother,” Alnesr said, the expression of relief that spread across his face only somewhat diminished by the haggard cast to his gaze.

 

As his brother Assassin detailed the comings and goings of those who had all but declared themselves for Abbas’ selfish cause, Malik took note of far more than the contents of Alnesr’s report. He noted that, while the younger Assassin _was_ taking care to display the full professionalism that was demanded of every member of their Brotherhood – and which Abbas had clearly abandoned – it was clear to someone who had taken the time to come to know him that Alnesr was concerned for the fates of his students. It was a concern that any instructor worth his title shared, and for that reason Malik was glad to see Alnesr demonstrating such a thing.

 

Still, the fact that it was taking a toll on him couldn’t be disputed by anyone with eyes.

 

“Your concern for your pupils does you credit, Alnesr,” he said, reaching out to clap the younger – neither of them could truly be called _young_ , anymore – Assassin’s right shoulder with his sole remaining hand. “And, while I am certain you would give a good account of yourself in combat, I share your desire for things to be resolved peacefully.”

 

“Yes,” the expression on his brother Assassin’s face spoke of his desire for peace more clearly than almost any other words he could have said.

 

“That is why, when the two factions that have formed within our Brotherhood meet in the village of Masyaf, I want you to be by my side,” he said. “You and I both wish for this madness to pass without bloodshed, but we may yet be forced to fight.”

 

“I know,” Alnesr said, casting his gaze down at the desk Malik was seated behind.

 

“I suppose there is nothing I can say to ease your mind in these matters,” he said, knowing that the sentiment held true for the both of them. “Still, I think that even Altaïr himself would have been unprepared to deal with such a thing as we find ourselves facing now.”

 

“Yes,” Alnesr said, the younger Assassin’s gaze seeming to look into the past for a few, long moments. “I don’t doubt it.”

 

“Just so,” he said, aiming for reassurance but not knowing quite how well he was managing such. “Still, I don’t think Altaïr would have any reason to gainsay how we’ve been handling matters in his absence.”

 

Alnesr didn’t say anything in response, but Malik could still see the uncertainty on his face, and he knew that there was one more thing that he had to tell him. If only so that the pair of them could become accustomed to the idea.

 

“I’m naming you my successor here and now, so that if anything goes awry during our talks with Abbas and his faction next week, the Brotherhood will not lack for a leader who properly understands the dictates of our Creed, and will uphold it even in spite of the difficult life we all lead.”

 

“I- Malik, you’re naming _me_?”

 

“You were at his side, while he was relearning the lessons he needed,” Malik said, smiling gently to reassure the younger Assassin. “And, no matter that you looked up to him, you were still willing to question his preconceptions and help him to think through his actions.”

 

“I simply don’t know if I’m prepared for the responsibility, Malik.”

 

“A fact that gives me all the more confidence that you will do well to have it,” he said, smiling wider. “A good leader must always be willing to question himself; to consult others he can trust, and thereby ensure that his decisions are truly in the best interests of those he leads. The Assassins and their Mentor are not separate, as some might foolishly believe, but indeed two parts of the same whole.”

 

“Both working together for the cause of peace,” the younger Assassin said, his tone sounding as though he was repeating wisdom that had been imparted to him by one he trusted; like as not, those were Altaïr’s words he was speaking.

 

“Yes, that’s just it,” he said, smiling and nodding. “That is precisely why I am naming you my successor, Alnesr. You know what it is to learn, and you now have experience teaching. I feel that I can trust you with these matters.”

 

“I thank you for having faith in me, Malik,” his brother Assassin said, bowing where he sat in front of the desk that Malik was sitting behind.

 

Dismissing Alnesr from Altaïr’s former study, with a promise that the pair of them would meet up again to further discus the duties and responsibilities of a Mentor of the Brotherhood of Assassins, and also acclimate the younger Assassin to what his particular responsibilities would be, if he was indeed forced to take up the mantle of Mentor. It wasn’t that Malik wanted to die, during the meeting that the two shadow-factions of the Brotherhood would be holding next week, but if there was anything that the life of an Assassin taught one, it was to be prepared for any outcome.

 

No matter how much one wished that such a thing wouldn’t happen.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

The week long grace period that had been agreed upon before the two shadow-factions that had formed within the Brotherhood were to meet had passed only that morning, and while Alnesr wished for a moment that such had not been the case, he knew better than to hope for things that could never be. He had listened dutifully as Malik explained the duties that a Mentor of the Brotherhood would need to perform, and while the both of them had agreed that he was better suited to combat, Malik had said that Altaïr himself had thought the same. He had also said that, because Alnesr knew what it was to be led, he would have what it took to lead, as well.

 

Alnesr was not entirely certain that he fully understood the logic behind his brother Assassin’s words, but he knew that now of all times was not the one to gainsay him.

 

As the pair of them gathered up their group of representatives for the meeting in Masyaf village, Alnesr took care to discreetly arm himself, as all of the others in their group were doing. He was not so foolish as to think that Abbas and his chosen representatives would be meeting with them unarmed, and so they were going to answer in kind. He still held out _some_ hope that their respective differences could be resolved without bloodshed, but even he had to admit that such a hope was a slim one at best.

 

Once their group had managed to fully prepare themselves for the meeting ahead, Alnesr raised his hood and joined them on their way out of the fortress. Each of Malik’s representatives had dressed themselves in their full Assassin garb, as a way to remind all of those who would be presenting themselves at the meeting – themselves included – of just what it was they were aiming to preserve. They left through the main entrance of the fortress, making their way down the path to the bottom of the mountain.

 

“Remember what we spoke about.”

 

“Of course, Malik,” he said, as his brother Assassin straightened once more and fell back into the center of their group.

 

Breathing more deeply to steady himself once more, Alnesr brushed the fingers of his left hand against the Hidden Blade that all Assassins wore. He’d heard Altaïr speaking about making changes to the design of the blade, particularly as to how it was worn upon the arm and hand, and while he couldn’t remember precisely what those changes had been intended to be, the weight of the blade on his arm served to remind him of that conversation all the same.

 

When their group of seven – Malik, and six of those who he had personally used his second-sight to select to accompany him – finally made their way down into the village that Masyaf fortress stood guard over, Alnesr searched for Abbas’ group as well as he could manage without leaving the shelter of Malik’s group. He did not find them, but when he saw that the tension that had pervaded Masyaf fortress seemed to have crept into the village, Alnesr suspected that he knew where they were.

 

At least in the most general of senses.

 

The seven of them made their way into the large building that they had all agreed upon for the meeting that they were to hold on this day of days, and Alnesr joined the others of their group in spacing themselves around the room. Abbas and his people filed into the room, and with his second-sight fully activated – the way he habitually kept it, in these late days – he could see them glowing with the red light of enemies. Chewing the inside of his lower lip, Alnesr tensed himself for combat.

 

“So, you and yours have finally deigned to meet with me,” Abbas said, a smile stretching his lips, one that did not nearly reach his eyes.

 

Sighing softly, Alnesr allowed himself to admit to himself that this day would not, indeed, end without bloodshed. Watching the men that Abbas had brought with him, keeping them within his second-sight so that he would be prepared for whatever they might attempt at the end of the discussion their two groups were having, Alnesr held himself ready for what might come. The tension between their two groups was clear enough to snap, but Abbas was at least able to hold himself back from attacking until the sun had traversed several handwiths through the sky.

 

The battle itself was sudden and fierce, yet because he and his had been prepared for just such an outcome, he and his were able to overwhelm them and incapacitate them to the last man. Abbas, however, was able to escape in the confusion. Alnesr was about to pursue, but a call from Malik drew his attention then.

 

“Malik!” he exclaimed, seeing the gaping wound in Malik’s stomach as he stepped over to where his brother Assassin was laying on the ground.

 

“You’ve done well, to come this far, Alnesr,” Malik said, reaching up with his remaining hand to clasp Alnesr’s own right hand. “Now, carry out your duties.”

 

“As you say, brother,” he said, clasping Malik’s hand a last time.

 

Calling some of his brother Assassins over, Alnesr directed them to do what they could for Malik, and to take him back to the fortress at Masyaf. Once he saw them getting to work, he turned and rushed out of the building in pursuit of Abbas. His second-sight allowed him to track the man even while he attempted to blend himself in among the milling crowds in Masyaf village, and so he was able to run the man down quickly, once he had broken from the milling citizens.

 

“Abbas!”

 

“So, it seems that _you_ are the one who comes for my life, brother,”  the man said, the grin on his red-glowing face appearing almost predatory.

 

“I _had_ wished that it would not come to this,” he allowed himself to admit, gathering himself as he raised his blade.

 

“In the end, you remain Altaïr’s boy.”

 

“Abbas, I truly wish you had been able to overcome this bitterness you hold,” he said, raising his sword as Abbas fell upon him.

 

Swords clashing against one another, Alnesr braced himself and forced Abbas back. Abbas’ skill at combat seemed to have declined over the course of the three years he had been attempting to form the shadow-factions within the Brotherhood for the sake of his own bitterness. Abbas yelped in pain as Alnesr slashed the back of his knees, falling to the ground at the end of Alnesr’s sword.

 

“Well?” Abbas demanded, a pained expression on his face as he forcibly turned himself over, the backs of his knees still spraying blood. “Kill me, _brother_ ,” the man’s tone twisted the word into an insult. “For yourself, for Altaïr. For the Brotherhood!”

 

“I will not give you that pleasure, Abbas,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he brought his sword up to clean it. “I will not betray our Creed, as you and yours have.”

 

“Mentor, we have taken Malik back to the fortress.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, turning to nod at his brother Assassin.

 

Abbas’ mocking laughter drew his attention back to where the man lay upon the ground, his legs surrounded by a slow-growing pool of blood. “Mentor, was it? So, boy, how _did_ you serve that one-armed bastard to be named so?”

 

Narrowing his eyes at the pitiful form laying on the ground before him – he was not so ignorant of the world as to be unaware of what Abbas meant – Alnesr snap-turned back to the Assassin standing next to him. “Gag him, and return him to the fortress.”

 

Not giving Abbas the satisfaction of an acknowledgement of his semi-coherent ranting, Alnesr made his way back to the building where they had met on this unfortunate day. Speaking to his brother Assassins, he gave them orders to return to the fortress with their own captives. He knew that it would fall to him, to cast the final judgments on the men who had acted in support of Abbas; it was what Altaïr would have done, if he had still been present to see what had become of the Brotherhood.

 

Alnesr wondered, for a moment, just how the conflict between Abbas’ faction and the rest of the Brotherhood would have gone if Altaïr _had_ still been present when it was beginning to break out, but he swiftly pushed those thoughts aside; idle wool-gathering would get him nowhere. Malik had given him the role of Mentor, and no matter if Alnesr still thought himself ill-prepared or not, that was the role he would play. He _did_ spare a thought for Altaïr, however, wishing him well in his undertakings.

 

That thought still in mind, Alnesr turned and made his own way back to Masyaf fortress.


	112. Homeward bound

Rauf did not know if Altaïr would have handled the situation in the same way, and had said as much to the young Mentor when he had been asked, but Alnesr’s decision stood: Abbas had been locked deep within the dungeons of Masyaf, in a specially-prepared cell, there to spend the rest of his days in silent isolation for what he had done. Those who had supported Abbas had been banished from the Brotherhood, declared rogue and hunted down whenever they showed themselves.

 

Rauf did not know precisely why it was that Alnesr had all but named him his right hand, but at times he suspected that such was because he had been nearly as close to Altaïr as their interim Mentor was.

 

Alnesr may not have had the same pure force of personality and will that their brother Assassin – still gone these six years – had possessed, but he knew what it was to be an outcast because of circumstances entirely beyond one’s control, and so he did not judge any of their brother Assassins on anything but the merit their actions had earned. It was the same as Altaïr had strove to do, and Rauf said as much. Alnesr had, of course, been pleased with the accolade, and had returned to his work with the shadow of a smile upon his face.

 

 _A shadow,_ Rauf mused, with some fondness. It was what the people living in Masyaf village had taken to calling their interim Mentor, as a sign of their affection for him: they said that Altaïr had cast his shadow over the Brotherhood as protection, and as such the name Altaïr Alzl had come into use as a term of endearment among them. Alnesr had smiled to hear it, before swiftly returning his attention to the many tasks that a Mentor of the Brotherhood was always called upon to do.

 

He’d also taken on the task of tending to Abbas, still in his solitary seclusion within Masyaf’s dungeons; locked within his personal cell.

 

Rauf was still unsure if Altaïr would have entirely approved of the fact that his student had crippled a man, and then confined him to a cell, leaving the man with only his bitterness and spite to stew in. Alnesr had firmly stated that he would not take the life of any member of the Brotherhood, but it would have been simplicity itself to have Abbas renounce all claims of being such, and then to end him properly. Alnesr’s seemed a cruel mercy, though by the young interim Mentor’s own words he did indeed still hold hope that Abbas would find redemption through the reflection that had been forced upon him.

 

Rauf still did not know if Altaïr would approve of such a thing; he knew, at least, that _he_ did not approve.

 

Still, on the whole Alnesr’s turn as Mentor was a great deal similar to Altaïr’s own, helped by the younger man’s willingness to consult with those who had more knowledge of how the Brotherhood had operated in the past, and those who knew Altaïr as a brother rather than a father. Rauf was pleased to see things settling back into a calm routine, and so allowed himself to settle back into his own routine. He would still need to train up a new successor, as it did not seem as though Altaïr would be returning to the Brotherhood with any real swiftness.

 

It having been seven years since the man had departed in the company of his son, after all.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Altaïr often found himself wondering, as he gathered himself to return to Masyaf after nine long years of being away from the fortress and all of his brother Assassins, how Malik was fairing with all of his new responsibilities as the interim Mentor of the Brotherhood. Leaving had not been an easy thing, no matter how much he knew that Genghis Khan’s advance needed to be stopped, and the reminder of his own steadily-increasing age had not been a pleasant one. Still, he had clearly been in need of such a thing, in light of his clear failure to infiltrate the Khan’s camp.

 

He, Darim, and their Mongolian brother Assassin Qulan Gal _had_ succeeded in their task to kill Genghis Khan, finding the Sword that had allowed him to gather so many disparate peoples under his command, and to cow so many others into submission so that he could spread his influence with as little bloodshed as possible. Some would have said that the Khan’s path was the true way to peace, but such a thing was unstable and short-lived at best. Like as not, any gains made in such a fashion would be lost at the end of the Khan’s life.

 

The kind of man who would create such a peace was not, after all, one who would trust that others would be capable of carrying it on.

 

As he and his bid farewell and good fortune to Qulan Gal and the man’s own brother Assassins, Altaïr turned his thoughts back to Malik and his own brother Assassins in the Levant. He’d kept himself from wondering at the state of his brother Assassins in Masyaf by way of stern discipline, and the constant reminders of his, Darim’s and Maria’s task in this place. Maria and Darim had both acquired skills with the crossbow, though Darim’s arm-strength and particular preference for such a weapon were most of the reasons that Altaïr had brought his and Maria’s eldest into Mongolia with them.

 

Another reason was that, no matter how he wished that he could deny time its due, he and Maria were simply not so young as they had once been. Such had been a lesson he had learned all too well when he and Qulan Gal had attempted to infiltrate the Khan’s holdings: he had been detected, and the pair of them had been forced to flee without the information they had been seeking. True, Darim had still managed to kill Genghis Khan in spite of that lack, but the failure itself had still served as an uncomfortable reminder of his own mortality.

 

True, in the end such had likely been exactly what he had needed to keep from making another foolish mistake, but all the same it had not been a thing that he enjoyed.

 

Shoving those thoughts firmly from his mind, Altaïr set about arranging the next leg of their journey. He was not about to allow himself to become lost within the Apple, not when there were so many others around him, and not when he knew that the man in black was so eager to taunt and distract him with cryptic statements that pulled at any Assassin’s natural curiosity. He’d long since come to realize that the man in black, whatever connections he might have held to those who bore his imprint as Alnesr did, was not one to share his motives.

 

It was a troublesome thing, the man in black’s insistence upon keeping everything of himself – even his own name – a secret to those who might chance upon him. Shaking his head, Altaïr banished those thoughts from his mind. This, of all places, was not one he could allow himself to be distracted.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

She could see that it weighed upon him, the fact that he was no longer the brash young Assassin he had been when the two of them had met for the first time, and Maria knew that she would need to speak to her mutton-headed husband before he allowed himself to fall too deeply into the melancholy that seemed to be consuming him with every day he spent away from their brother Assassins in the Levant. But for the moment, with Altaïr engaged in procuring their latest form of transport, Maria knew that it was hardly the time. Particularly given how fully she knew the old man’s stubbornness.

 

Still, she _would_ make herself heard, even if she was forced to box the old goat’s ears so that he would actually _listen_.

 

As the their small family made their way back to the home that Maria had known for almost as long as she had been a member of the Templar Order – nearly longer, in fact – Maria smiled softly. They switched transports periodically, in order that they might further obscure their trail from those who might have otherwise sought to follow them, and the three of them were also scrupulously careful about blending into the varied crowds they encountered. She might have easily called it unchecked paranoia, but there _was_ something to be said for honing one’s skill in a comparatively safe environment.

 

She was not nearly blind enough to have missed the way her stubborn, proud husband’s misstep in dealing with the Khan had continued to trouble him during the course of their preparations for returning to Masyaf.

 

And so, Maria continued to watch, ensuring that she and Darim were both close enough to intervene when her husband’s pride – or even his uncertainties, in light of what could have happened if things had gone differently – got the better of him. It was in that way that the three of them returned at last to the Levant: herself and Darim seeing to her husband’s mental state, while the man himself saw to their means of travel. Maria could hardly be more pleased to be returning to Masyaf, after what had happened.

 

If nothing else, he would appreciate seeing the Brotherhood that he had worked so hard to preserve and expand with his own eyes once again, and to reassure himself that they had been well in his absence.


	113. Shadow Brotherhood

He was happier than he had been in some time for the fact that he had managed to convince Maria Thorpe that the cause of the Templars was not all there was in the world; that such would not bring her the freedom she sought, in the end. He was glad, because traveling with Maria and Darim made the journey seem to go all the more quickly and easily. He was still curious as to how Malik had been managing, both concerning the affairs of the Brotherhood as a whole, and in the matter of his own affairs.

 

He was also curious as to how Alnesr had been managing. He was not entirely pleased to admit, even if only to himself, that the cryptic words of the man in black – those few times that he had been given to look within the Apple – had almost succeeded in tempting him to return to Masyaf more quickly and more directly than he otherwise would have. Only the stern reminders that there may have yet been more Templars or other enemies upon the paths that they were called to travel had prevented him from taking such a foolish risk.

 

It would be a poor repayment indeed, to bring the Templars back to Masyaf when all that he’d truly wished to do was see to Alnesr’s health.

 

And so Altaïr continued on, taking care not to leave a coherent trail for the Templars or other enemies he might have made during the course of his hunt for the Khan. Sooner than he would have thought, Altaïr found himself within the limits of the village surrounding Masyaf fortress. The village itself seemed to have expanded, if only slightly; it was a thought that brought the smallest of smiles to Altaïr’s weathered face. It seemed he needn’t have worried for Malik’s adaptability at all.

 

If anything the slight expansion made to Masyaf village, the one that he could now see was _not_ simply a product of what might have been charitably called misplaced optimism, proved that he had not been mistaken in his choice of the man who would watch over the Brotherhood while he could not have been present. Wishing for nothing more than to speak with Rauf, and so let Malik know that he would be making his way up to the fortress to relieve him of command at last, Altaïr hurried his steps. He was certain that Malik would appreciate the gesture, if only because his brother Assassin had not particularly wanted the position he’d been given.

 

More than likely, Malik would be entirely happy to give the position back to him.

 

Catching the eye of one of the nearby citizens, an older man who smiled to see him as he walked along with his gaggle of chattering children, Altaïr asked him to direct Rauf to them as soon as he could. When the man had agreed, after assuring the children that he would tell them just who the old Assassin he was speaking to actually was, Altaïr thanked him for his time and happily moved deeper into the village. However, it seemed as though that appellation would no longer hold quite so true as it once had, if the expansion that he was seeing continued apace.

 

Indeed, Masyaf’s protectorate village seemed to have blossomed into the smallest of towns during the course of the ten years that he, Maria, and Darim had been away hunting for Genghis Khan; he _was_ pleased to see such a thing, as it meant that Malik’s leadership of the Brotherhood had indeed been well-chosen, but it was also a reminder of just how much time had passed during that selfsame task.

 

“It seems as though Malik has done quite well for himself,” he said, both because it was true, and because he’d felt the need to say _something_ , or be drawn into musings of just how much time truly stood between Altaïr the Mentor of the Levantine Brotherhood, and Altaïr the aging Assassin.

 

“Yes, it does indeed seem so,” Maria said, a knowing smile gentling the planes of her weathered face. “But, I suspect that’s not the only thing on your mind, my husband.”

 

He laughed softly. “As ever, you’ve seen through me, Maria.” He sighed, no longer feeling quite so jovial as he once had. “All of this… truly, it serves to remind me of how old I really am.”

 

Maria’s own laugh was quite a bit louder, as was her way. “Do you think _I_ don’t notice that as well, my husband? Time passes; it’s not as though you and I would be able to stop that.”

 

“I know,” he said, smiling gently at her admonishment. “It’s a foolish thing, and yet I find I can’t stop thinking about it.”

 

“I suppose that not all of us can accept our own mortality with the same ease,” she said, and Altaïr sighed more softly.

 

“Yes.”

 

Looking back up, he saw Rauf making his way down the path towards them.

 

“Welcome back, brothers!” Rauf called happily, raising his right arm to wave a greeting to them, before coming forward to take the reins and lead their horses to the waiting stables. “I hope your journey has been prosperous!”

 

“I sent reports,” he said, smiling at Rauf’s enthusiasm.

 

“Bah, always better to hear a story from the source, than to just read it in a book,” Rauf returned, the warmth of amusement never leaving his face or tone. “That’s what I say.”

 

“Indeed,” he said, smiling indulgently at the man who still seemed to look up to him, even though he’d not hidden any of his failings from any of his brother Assassins who composed his inner-circle. “Well, as I’ve little patience for telling the same story more than once, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until I speak with Malik.”

 

The sigh that he heard in response was not nearly so cheerful as the tone that Rauf had been speaking in before, but Altaïr was only given a moment to wonder about that, before his brother Assassin turned an expression of rueful sadness back on him. “I’d hoped to be able to deliver you better tidings than this when you arrived, Mentor.”

 

He’d no time to wonder what it was that Rauf was speaking of, before his brother Assassin began detailing just what had happened during the ten, long years he had spent working, first to find Genghis Khan’s encampment, and then to kill him so that the people he had been oppressing could know peace.

 

Hearing that it had been Abbas’ bitterness that had nearly split the Brotherhood in twain was not at all what he had wished to hear, but such a thing paled in comparison to hearing that Malik had been killed during the course of what had been said to be a peace talk. He’d never wanted to think any of his brother Assassins capable of such betrayal, but such thoughts had been in his head while he had been confronting Al Mualim as well. Both times, Altaïr had found himself ever more thankful that he hadn’t made such a mistake with every one of those he’d chosen to give his trust to.

 

When the three of them had dismounted their horses, leaving them in the care of Masyaf’s skilled stable hands, Altaïr nodded to Rauf and, falling into step with his brother Assassin as the four of them made their way up through the various levels of Masyaf fortress on their way to the Master’s tower to meet with Alnesr. On their way, Altaïr could see that the same, bustling atmosphere present in the village that they had passed through not so very long ago was present there as well. True, such a thing was more subdued than what he had seen outside, but like as not that was simply due to the nature of the work that the Brotherhood was engaged in.

 

He was pleased to see it, all the same.

 

As he and his continued on their journey through the halls and corridors of the fortress, moving steadily upward toward the Master’s tower, Altaïr continued to sweep his eyes about. He was met with smiles from those Assassins old enough to have met him in person, and curious gazes from those too young, and he smiled to see both. Coming to the top of the tower he’d not set foot in for ten, long years, Altaïr paused a moment to allow Rauf to announce him.

 

Making his way up to the desk, smiling all the wider as Alnesr raised his head, pale yellow eyes meeting his across the room.

 

“Alnesr.”


	114. The Shadow in daylight

He’d been anticipating his brother Assassin’s return for every day of the month since he’d been placed in command of the entirety of the Levantine Brotherhood, so when the sound of soft boots, the kind that nearly every member of the Brotherhood wore, sounded from just inside the Master’s tower, Alnesr was barely able to finish the work that he’d had set before him before sitting up to see just who it was that had come in to see him.

 

“I’m glad to see you again, brother,” he said, smiling as he stood up from behind the desk that he had been seated behind for so many days that even _he_ had started to lose track.

 

“I am sorry to hear about Malik, but I truly appreciate the good work you have been doing here, Alnesr,” his brother Assassin, former Master, and father in all but blood said, smiling gently at him, while at the same time crossing the floor so that the two of them could speak with one another more personally.

 

“I’m simply pleased to see you again, brother,” he said, stepping out from behind Altaïr’s desk and swiftly crossing the remaining distance between the two of them.

 

Allowing himself the luxury of a brief embrace, knowing that his brother Assassin would not disparage him for the need of it, Alnesr allowed himself to relax for at least a moment. He might not have known what else this day of all days would bring, but now he could at least say that he was better prepared to face it.

 

When Altaïr requested a formal report on what had occurred while he had been away, Alnesr gathered himself in preparation as he presented it. The presentation itself had been a thing that he had worked on for a great long time when Altaïr had first departed, though his enthusiasm for such had steadily waned as the years had stretched on and he was left with only reading Altaïr’s own reports about the situation he had found himself in. Still, he _had_ taken care to update the report where needed, so he was not concerned with the state of it.

 

For his part, Altaïr did not seem to disapprove of his handling of the situation with regards to Abbas and his splinter-faction, though the fact that he wished to _speak_ with the man came as something of a surprise; though Abbas _had_ been his friend as much as he had been Alnesr’s uncle, so perhaps it should not have.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Following Alnesr’s lead as his former Apprentice and current Mentor of the Levantine Assassins proceeded him down into the lower portions of Masyaf, the pair of them on their way to the dungeons, Altaïr reflected on Alnesr’s conduct during the time he had taken the post that Altaïr himself had been unable to for ten years. It was the same as he himself might well have done, had he been in the same position and armed with the same knowledge as his former Apprentice, and while he was glad that the Brotherhood had prospered in the decade of his absence, Altaïr could not help wishing that he could have stayed.

 

Perhaps he could have done something more, but the past was the past, and all the wishes in the world would not change what had happened; best to look to the future, now.

 

When the pair of them arrived in the dungeons beneath Masyaf, a place that he could remember from the mishap in his and Alnesr’s youth that had first turned Abbas into his enemy, Altaïr steadied himself and followed Alnesr into the cell that had been prepared. The room itself had been further isolated from the other cells within Masyaf’s dungeon by wooden slats and empty cells, and Altaïr found himself musing on just how his former Apprentice had ultimately dealt with the man who had once been so close to the both of them.

 

It was well that Alnesr had refrained from killing him, since it served to show his brother Assassin was indeed genuine in his desire not to shed the blood of even a former Assassin such as Abbas, and yet… The fate that his once-brother had suffered was not one that Altaïr would have wished on the bitterest of his enemies. However, it seemed that Abbas had become just that, even as Altaïr himself had forgiven the man for his previous transgressions.

 

Such thoughts, however they might have been unavoidable in a situation so complicated as this, were not likely to help his position.

 

Tailing Alnesr as his brother Assassin made his way at last into the cell where Abbas had been confined to reflect on his bitterness – if such was even possible at this late stage; it was an unkind thought, but Altaïr found that he could not avoid it so well as he might have liked – Altaïr found that, for all his secluded isolation, Abbas was well cared-for. It was well to know that his brother Assassin had chosen to forgo even the pettiest form of revenge when he was confining Abbas.

 

“Come to see me again, _brother_?” Abbas sneered, the venom in his tone twisting the word into an insult.

 

“Abbas,” he said, drawing the attention of the one at the center of the cell where he and Alnesr now stood.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Watching as Altaïr and Abbas confronted each other for the first time in ten long years, Alnesr allowed himself to breathe more easily. He was at pleased to know that Altaïr did indeed approve of the actions he had taken in the name of protecting and preserving the Brotherhood. However, he was also aware of the fact that his mentor wished that he himself could have found a better way to handle the situation that the three of them had found themselves in.

 

Almost as though Altaïr wished he could turn time itself on its head, though such a thing was impossible.

 

Following his mentor from Abbas’ cell as the pair of them departed, Alnesr wondered just what it was that Altaïr would wish to do next. Taking back leadership of the Brotherhood was such an obvious thing that it hardly needed stating, but beyond that, Alnesr could not be certain just what it was that his mentor would wish of him. The two of them continued on their way back to the tower that Alnesr had never truly allowed himself to feel at home in; always, he had reminded himself that he was simply holding it while the true Master of the Brotherhood was away on a journey.

 

And now that his brother and mentor _had_ returned, Alnesr was more than happy to set aside the responsibilities that had been pressed upon him as interim Master of the Assassins.


	115. The choice

He noticed that Alnesr seemed lighter on his feet – more comfortable in his own skin – and was pleased to see such as thing; more than that, he knew the cause of such a thing, and was already making plans to help his brother Assassin gain the full confidence that his odd appearance – the one he shared with the man in black, and all of those who had been “marked” by him – seemed to have denied him.

 

Resting his right hand lightly upon Alnesr’s broad shoulders – his brother Assassin had truly come into his own; no longer a child, but a man fully grown – he returned the smile offered to him, and opened the door to let them both back inside his old study.

 

“Alnesr, stay a moment more,” he called, halting his brother in his tracks, just as he was turning to leave. “I would speak with you.”

 

“What is it, Altaïr?” his brother Assassin asked, seating himself in the chair that Altaïr directed him to.

 

“I’ve heard only good things about your time as Master of the Levantine Brotherhood,” he said, smiling gently as Alnesr made himself more comfortable in the chair where he was seated. “And, while I am certain that Rauf will be grateful to see you return to your post, I would consider it a personal favor if you would be willing to meet with me more often than you’ve done in the past.”

 

“Very well, brother,” Alnesr said, though Altaïr could still see that he was rather confused.

 

“Malik was right, to trust you with the responsibility he did,” he explained; and, though he knew that he would still need time to mourn his lost brother, Altaïr also knew that he would not be alone in such mourning. “And, hearing how well you bore up under the responsibilities you were given, I would see fit to train you as my own successor, as well.”

 

“I thank you for your confidence, brother,” Alnesr said, though he sounded a bit befuddled by what he had just heard; Altaïr knew that his brother Assassin’s early life had not been conductive to building confidence in himself, but he was determined to correct such a thing as much as he could.

 

“Come to me when you finish instructing your students for the day,” he said, reaching out to gently take hold of Alnesr’s right shoulder. “And, thank you for seeing to the safety of our brothers.”

 

“Of course, Altaïr,” Alnesr said, bowing slightly as he rose back to his feet to leave.

 

Dismissing his faithful brother, Altaïr turned his attention back to the matter of overseeing the Brotherhood’s operations. Alnesr would keep, particularly since his former Apprentice had his own duties and commitments now. And, as ever, Altaïr’s own duties were to the Brotherhood as a whole, and naturally took precedence over his favor for any one Assassin in particular.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Knowing that the Templars were still at large within the world, Altaïr had resolved himself to begin enacting the reforms that he had devised for the Brotherhood, so that they might be able to adapt to the world as it continued to change around them, rather than being left behind. He and Alnesr had already begun arranging for their brother and sister Assassins to leave Masyaf fortress for the various enclaves and guilds that had been steadily set up throughout the Levant, and now the pair of them were aiding in the scholars’ efforts to make copies of the texts that had filled Masyaf’s vast library.

 

He could see that Alnesr was pleased to be given such a task, and Altaïr was perfectly content to admit that he shared such a feeling, as well.

 

Once they had finished as much work as they could manage for the day, Altaïr was just as pleased to return to his other duties as Alnesr seemed to be. And, while it _was_ indeed true that his load of duties were becoming lighter with the fewer Assassins that remained at the fortress with them, the duties themselves were no less important. Knowing that, and pleased to see that the dispersal of their brother and sister Assassins from Masyaf was proceeding as well as could be expected for those who were being made to leave the only home that many of them had ever known, Altaïr was as pleased as he could be with matters as they stood.

 

He’d been taking time to update both his personal codex, as well as the one he had started concerning both the man in black and those who seemed to be either his associates or his disciples – there seemed to be images of those ranging in age from adults to those who had barely left childhood behind, and so Altaïr had no means of truly determining what their relationship with the man in black ultimately was – but for the moment nothing pressed upon his mind save for those responsibilities he had accepted when he had taken up the mantle of Mentor of the Brotherhood.

 

“How goes the exodus?” he asked, looking up as Alnesr and Darim came striding into his study and arrayed themselves before him.

 

“Well enough, father,” Darim reported. “However, those who consider this place a home are not particularly eager to leave it.”

 

“I’d not have expected them to be,” he said, smiling gently at his eldest son. “Truthfully, I even find myself missing the glory days of Masyaf, and the Brotherhood’s own, as well. Alnesr, how go the scholars’ efforts?”

 

“Masyaf’s main library has nearly been completely copied, and those texts essential to learning the ways of our Creed have been disseminated with those groups being sent out among the cities of the Levant,” his brother Assassin reported.

 

“I’m pleased to hear that, Alnesr,” he said, nodding with a small smile on his face. “Continue to see to the evacuation, Darim. Alnesr, stay a moment.”

 

The pair of them bowed and Darim quickly turned to attend to the duties assigned to him.

 

“What is it you wished to speak to me about, Mentor?”

  
“The time for another visit to Abbas has come upon us,” he said, feeling his old bones creak as he rose from his chair.

 

He saw a flash of worry in Alnesr’s yellow eyes – so unlike the chilling avarice he could always see so clearly in the eyes of the man in black; it was how he reminded himself that, in spite of the coloring they shared, his brother Assassin was nothing like the man in black – and smiled, slightly ruefully, in an aim to reassure him.

 

“When you come to be my age, brother, I think you will find that _you_ are no longer quite so eager to rise when you have been seated for some time.”

 

It was Alnesr’s turn to laugh ruefully, though his amusement seemed to be directed more at himself, as the pair of them made their way steadily deeper into the emptying halls and corridors of Masyaf. He could truly see what Darim meant, in these quiet moments of reflection: it was indeed a pitiful sight, watching the fortress being stripped bare of life and emptied of knowledge. Still, it was and would be a necessary step on the path of remaking the Brotherhood into what it would need to be, so that the Assassins and their Creed could survive in the coming era. It helped when he thought of matters in such a way.

 

Continuing on their journey down through the levels of the fortress that lay between the tower where he spent so much of his time and the dungeon that Abbas had been consigned to after his betrayal, Altaïr reflected again upon just what he was ultimately going to do with the former Assassin. The simplest answer would be to leave him to live out the rest of his days in quiet seclusion within the cell that Alnesr had caused to be prepared for him, but Altaïr could not help the thought that such a thing would be cruel beyond measure. To be locked away from all sight and sound, not only of the outside world but of all people save two…

 

He could not hush the thoughts that placed _him_ in Abbas’ position; such a thing had to be the worst of tortures to one who had once been one of the fortress’ own Assassins.

 

Still, Abbas was clearly a man who had allowed bitterness and wrath to consume what compassion he might have had during the early years of his life, and so Altaïr knew that he would need to handle his future conversations with Abbas with at least some modicum of tact.

 

When the pair of them made their way down into the specially prepared cell where Abbas had been isolated on Alnesr’s orders – orders that he had once been tempted to rescind, if only for a moment, when he had retaken control of the Brotherhood from the younger Assassin – Altaïr sighed softly as he beheld the slumped form of Abbas seated before them. He knew that Abbas had been the one to bring this fate upon himself, if only because he had refused to give up on his bitterness until Alnesr was left with no other recourse but to confine him in the dungeon so he could not cause any more damage. Abbas was a pitiful figure, here and now, but Altaïr always made as best an effort as he could not to show the thoughts that were in his mind when he faced the man.

 

Nothing of that nature would ever be beneficial to his and Abbas’ situation; even _before_ he’d succumbed to bitterness so completely, Abbas had always hated pity.


	116. Third option

Having settled herself back into the Assassin’s fortress of Masyaf, Maria couldn’t have honestly said that she was happy to have been forced to leave it. Still, with the Mongols making plans for an all-out assault on the fortress, and the reforms that Altaïr had instated within the Brotherhood as a whole, she could understand the need for such a thing. That didn’t mean that she was any more pleased to have such a situation forced upon her, of course.

 

She’d been asked to help with the evacuation, something that she had agreed to do after only a moment’s thought, and now she was helping to shepherd the remaining Assassins as they dispersed in pairs and groups from Masyaf, instructing them to meet up again when they could be certain that they hadn’t been followed by any of the various enemies that the Brotherhood had accumulated during the course of its long existence; the remaining Templars in particular, of course.

 

Once she had managed as much of that task as she could in a single day, Maria returned to the chambers that she shared with Altaïr so that the pair of them could take what rest they needed after this rather trying day; and all of the days that would be soon to come after it.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

When he found himself being gently hurried away from his desk and all the papers atop it, Altaïr smiled softly as he looked up into the faces of the two he had become so close to over the course of his life.

 

“I expect you’re not going to be dissuaded if I tell you I have work to do,” he stated, his tone one of fond resignation.

 

“Of course not, you stubborn old goat,” Maria said; Alnesr laughed softly into his right hand, and Altaïr smiled a bit wider to see the pair of them enjoying each other’s company. “If I was able to let my _own_ work rest, when there’s still so much to be done, I’ll accept nothing less from you.”

 

“Of course not, Maria,” he said, smiling a bit wider as he allowed her to help him from his seat. “Truly, I would almost have been disappointed if you had.”

 

The three of them shared a companionable chuckle, even as Altaïr allowed himself to be guided out of his study and back to the room that he and Maria had shared since the day they wed. As the pair of them went about preparing themselves for sleep, Altaïr was made all the more aware of the limitations that his increasing age was placing on him. Even these small tasks were becoming more of a chore with every day that passed.

 

It was not a prospect he enjoyed, but he’d lived too long – he’d done too much – to allow himself to mourn something he’d long known was inevitable.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

The next time he was able to lay his hands to the Apple, Altaïr found that he had very little desire to look into the artifact at all. He knew that the man in black would present himself once more. The man in black, with his cryptic pronouncements, his barely-hidden avarice, and of late his increasingly tempting offers.

 

Anyone with eyes to see the pair of them could not possibly miss the fact that, while he had long since passed the prime of his life, the man in black had not seemed to age a single day since Altaïr had first caught sight of him; the first time he had chosen to show himself.

 

Still, there might very well have been other wonders that he could create, using the designs and principles that the artifact could show him. It could very well be, that by refusing to make use of the Apple the way he was doing, he could end up inadvertently depriving the Brotherhood of something they would have need of in the future. _Or, perhaps Maria is right, and this damned artifact has drawn me in too far; poisoning my mind and making me crave it, consequences be damned._

 

Altaïr knew his own mind, however; if he did not take this chance he had been presented with at the moment it had been presented to him, it would only gnaw at his mind, and then he would all too easily find himself seeking out the Apple more often, increasing his risk of losing himself to the artifact when he inevitably gazed into it.

 

Removing the Apple from the chest where he’d long stored it, Altaïr held the artifact before his eyes as it began to activate. The traceries of light within the artifact lit up slowly, and the heavily-cloaked form of the man in black appeared to stride slowly out of the Apple itself. His gait and manner had become no less predatory over the years, and the sly smile on his face was no smaller than he’d ever seen it.

 

_“Have you been considering my offer, Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad?”_

 

“My answer is the same as before: I’ve no interest in what you offer. When my time on this world ends, I will be content.”

 

_“What about your Brotherhood? Have you no concern what might happen to those you care for without you?”_

 

“All of my brother and sister Assassins have proven themselves quite capable,” he said, deliberately refraining from giving the names of those he trusted. “I will entrust what remains to them.”

 

 _“How quaint,”_ the man in black said, eyes narrowing in what seemed to be a sort of amused contempt.

 

He vanished not soon after speaking those words, leaving Altaïr free to examine the Apple itself in some form for peace. He remained, however, rather uncomfortably aware of the presence of the man in black as he continued to seek out more of the information that the Apple contained. Retrieving his codex, Altaïr’s thoughts turned to the second codex he had been writing.

 

Of late, the words of the man in black had turned towards the future, and his possible role in it, if only he would surrender himself to whatever it was that the man in black offered.

 

Given the man’s stubborn refusal to reveal so much as his _name_ without playing word games, even claiming that such a thing was of no importance, Altaïr was unwilling to give him the benefit of any possible doubt. Still, he’d already recorded the temptations the man in black offered, as well as advice to any future members of the Brotherhood who might chance to lay their hands to this particular Apple not to listen.

 

Gathering himself once again, Altaïr dismissed the Apple’s phantasms and placed the artifact itself back in the chest that he’d since taken to storing under his bed. Closing the codex with a soft snap, Altaïr placed it back down on his desk and left his room. There were other matters still to be taken care of; particularly with regards to the Brotherhood and the few Assassins that remained within the fortress that they were slowly, steadily evacuating.

 

Making his way back to his study, Altaïr settled himself back down at his desk.


	117. March of time

He’d been hearing more and more tales of Mongol advances into Assassin-held territory, and upon learning that their ultimate aim was to strike at Masyaf itself, Alnesr came to fully understand just why Altaïr continued to evacuate the fortress, even after enough of their brother and sister Assassins had departed the fortress that they would be able to create and maintain strongholds for the Brotherhood within the cities they were being dispatched to. He was pleased to know that the Brotherhood would outlast Masyaf itself, though he’d had little doubt in any case, owing to the many travels he had made at the side of Altaïr and Maria, each of them doing their part to spread the Creed to those they encountered.

 

Lately, however, he’d also begun to hear that Darim – who had traveled abroad to France and England so as to warn those of the Brotherhood who operated in those areas of the encroaching threat of the Mongols – was making his way back to Masyaf.

 

“Alnesr.”

 

“Altaïr. It’s good to see you again, Mentor,” he said, smiling even as he caught sight of the expression on his brother Assassin’s face. “What troubles you?”

 

“I wish for you to retake command of the Brotherhood for a year,” the Mentor of the Levantine Assassins said. “There is something I must see to, within the fortress of Alamut.”

 

“Very well, Mentor,” he said, rather confused about what reason his brother Assassin could have for asking such a thing of him, but still knowing that it was his duty to aid his mentor with the skill he’d trained to have. “I wish you all luck in your endeavor.”

 

“Thank you, Alnesr,” Altaïr said, smiling softly at him as he turned to leave.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Departing Masyaf with little fanfare, Altaïr made his way to the old fortress of Alamut. While he was perfectly aware that Maria would not approve of his leaving, and even less of the fact that he had brought the Apple with him, he knew that there was little chance of him resting comfortably when there was clearly something of interest to the Brotherhood within the abandoned fortress. He’d left quietly enough that he didn’t think Maria would have noticed, or been curious enough to follow if she had.

 

Still, he knew that Maria would be truly, thoroughly displeased with him when he was able to return to Masyaf once more; in this case, he felt that it was far better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission.


	118. Shared sorrow

Returning to Altaïr’s study, once again feeling the weight of responsibility that he had taken on at the request of his mentor – the Mentor of the Levantine Brotherhood, but Alnesr had long since accepted that he would always think of Altaïr as _his_ mentor first – Alnesr settled in behind the desk, just as someone came in through the door.

 

“Father, I must speak with you.”

 

“Darim? What troubles you?”

 

“Brother,” Altaïr’s eldest son greeted him. “I didn’t know that Father had placed you in command of the Brotherhood again.”

 

“He said that there was some matter of interest to him in the old fortress of Alamut,” he said, watching the expression on Darim’s face to see if he might be able to interpret what his brother Assassin wanted more easily. “What troubles you, brother?”

 

“When Sef and I were returning to this place to make our report, we were waylaid by bandits,” Darim said, something in his tone letting Alnesr know that the tale he was relating would not have a happy ending. “And, while we were able to rid the world of their presence, our own time spent traveling left us ill-prepared for a fight such as the one we found ourselves in. Sef was gravely injured, and while I did all that I could for him, he passed away before I could bring him within sight of the village.”

 

Alnesr closed his eyes. “I am sorry to hear that, Darim. Sef was one of my best students, alongside you.”

 

“Thank you for your kind words, brother,” Darim said, making an attempt to smile that Alnesr was grateful to see, though he wished that such a thing had not been so much of a struggle as it seemed. “I wish that I could have spoken with Father _and_ Mother about this; they should both know the fate of one of our own.”

 

“I will send a message to Alamut for you, if you wish to reestablish contact,” he offered.

 

“Thank you, brother,” Darim said, a gentle smile on his face.

 

“Of course.”

 

Darim left not soon after that, bidding him farewell as he did so, and Alnesr turned his thoughts back to the work he would still need to do.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

When she saw the tall, broad form of her eldest son returning to the fortress, Maria thought that Sef would be along shortly; the pair of them having departed together from Masyaf in order to make contact with their fellow Assassins who lived and worked outside the walls of the fortress or the confines of the village. Thinking that Sef might have needed to go to the infirmary, Maria made her own way down through the varied levels of Masyaf to see if she could find him.

 

When her elder son came to find her directly, Maria could tell by the expression on his face that something had gone wrong; it may have been cliché to say that a mother knew her sons, but Maria had always made the effort to stay in touch with both of her sons.

 

“Darim, what has gone wrong? Where is Sef?”

 

“Sef was killed during our return to Masyaf,” her eldest admitted, sounding about as pained as Maria felt at that moment. “The pair of us were overtaken by bandits, and while we _were_ able to overcome them, in the end, Sef’s injuries proved too great for him. He perished during the course of our return journey.”

 

“I see,” she said, closing her eyes briefly as she breathed deeply to steady herself.

 

It was not a thing that she had been _unprepared_ for, precisely, being the wife of an Assassin and having training as one herself, but this was still not a thing she enjoyed. Truly, she would have looked askance at anyone who _did_.

 

Turning her steps, Maria made her way up to the tower where her stubborn old goat of a husband kept himself so busy that she honestly doubted he himself had heard of Sef’s death. However, when she _did_ make her way up to the tower where Altaïr held court, she found that it was Alnesr behind the desk. Hard at work, yes, but _he_ was not the one she was searching for.

 

“So, where is that stubborn old goat of a husband of mine?” she asked, folding her arms as she gazed sternly down at him.

 

“He said that there was something of interest to him within the old fortress of Alamut,” Altaïr’s former student informed her.

 

She sighed. “Like as not, he brought the Apple, as well. Damned old fool,” she muttered, recalling her husband’s sheer obsession with the artifact.

 

“I could make certain, if you wish,” the earnest younger Assassin – no longer a boy, or even a young man, but still with fewer years than either herself or Altaïr – said.

 

“No,” she said, and shook her head gently. “It’s kind of you to make the offer, but I would not ask you to risk yourself against the man in black, if he remains present.”

 

The younger Assassin had nothing else to say after that exchange, and so Maria saw herself out. Clearly, she would need to find her stubborn goat of a husband and have _words_ with him at Alamut. As soon as she was able to provision a horse.


	119. Darkness and yellow eyes

When he was finally able to settle himself within the abandoned fortress of Alamut, Altaïr turned his gaze toward the Apple once more. It was one of the more pressing reasons that he had chosen a location that had been both long-abandoned, and was also far enough removed from surrounding settlements that he would not need to fear the man in black appearing before those who might not have had the foresight to resist his temptations. Alamut served well on both counts.

 

There was also a small part of him that wished to keep the Apple to himself; it was a part he made every effort to disregard, but Altaïr was aware of it all the same.

 

Focusing his attention upon the Apple once more, Altaïr picked up the artifact and cradled it in his right hand. When the traceries of colorless light emerged from the strangely colored sphere – it was clearly not gold, nor copper, having more the coloration of bronze or brass, and yet none of the weight – Altaïr narrowed his eyes as he saw the heavily-cloaked form of the man in black striding calmly out of the colorless light cast by the Apple.

 

_“How nice to see you again, Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad.”_

 

“I’ve no need to hear your offer again, as you already know my answer,” he said, nearly before the man in black had finished speaking.

 

_“Perhaps. But, there may yet come a time when you find yourself at an end, and in need of assistance. When that time comes, call upon me.”_

 

Turning his gaze away from the man in black, leaving the pair of them in deep, almost profound silence, Altaïr turned his full attention to the sights that the Apple itself was showing to him. Truly, if he was to improve the lot of his brother and sister Assassins, he would need far more than merely an armor design that even _he_ had realized would be too much of a risk to release to the world at large, if for some reason the Brotherhood was unable to keep it out of the hands of those who would naturally covet the item.


	120. Make work

Drawing himself away from such idle wool gathering once more, Altaïr focused his mind on the odd play of colorless light from within the Apple. The light itself formed dancing patterns in the air, and those patterns soon resolved themselves into the same kinds of images that he had used to derive the formula to create the armor that he had hidden away from those who might have been tempted to misuse it. Even his own brother and sister Assassins might, in a fit of desperation, use it to make their lives and their missions simpler.

 

Truly, Altaïr did not know if he himself would have been able to resist such a temptation, had it been presented to him as a younger man.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Making her way along one of the many paths that her stubborn goat of a husband might have used as he traversed the distance between Masyaf and Alamut, Maria sighed as the bobbing and swaying of the horse finally became troublesome enough that she was forced to dismount in order to rest her aching bones.

 

“This is no job for an old woman,” she muttered, laughing ruefully to herself as she tied her horse by the well and made her way over to the saddlebags that the animal carried.

 

Taking out a small meal of dried food, Maria settled herself down in the shade of the well to rest and to eat. She wished, for a fleeting moment, that the one was not so important as the other, but she knew that such a thing was the price for living so long as she had. And, in light of the only other alternative, Maria was pleased with her life. _Now, if I can just convince that stubborn goat of a husband of mine, I’ll be even more pleased._

 

Sighing as she once again began to marshal her arguments for dealing with Altaïr and his at-times-damnable curiosity, Maria settled back under the shade of the well to eat while she rested her weary old bones.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

When he had completed what work he was able to complete the work he’d begun, adding to and improving upon the tools and tactics that the Brotherhood itself had devised over the course of their existence, Altaïr turned his mind to the other matters that the Apple had brought to up for him to reflect upon. It was beginning to seem as though the Brotherhood had not been simply the creation of the Old Man of the Mountain, but something that he had rediscovered. Something that may well have been older than any of them.

 

Many of the sights the Apple had shown to him, while they _had_ seemed  to be far more technologically advanced than anything he had seen short of the Apple itself, still somehow appeared to have a great deal of age to them.

 

Exploring more of the mysteries that the Apple had left to present was yet another reason that he had wished to be free of distractions in a place such as Alamut. Beyond those, basic concerns of security and safety that they were, there was also the matter of the fortress itself. If what he had seen within the Apple was indeed true, there was a cache of artifacts stored within Alamut that had been created by those who had had a hand in creating the very artifact that had led him to them in the first place.

 

There was also the matter of the man in black himself; Altaïr had resolved himself that he would at least attempt to gain _some_ information from him, even if the man himself was bound and determined to retain his air of mystery.

 

He knew that the information he gained in such a way was not likely to be fully reliable, but he would at least know more about his motivations and the ends he sought than he presently did.

 

Turning his mind to the problem of the man in black, Altaïr wondered just how he was to draw the attention of the man in black once more. As it turned out, however, he needn’t have concerned himself with such a thing to begin with. Appearing from within the depths of the Apple once again, this time seeming to step out from the light itself with a subdued flourish of his long, heavy-looking cloak.

 

 _“Well, this is rather interesting,”_ he said, the shadow of his typically avaricious smile appearing on his face, even as he pulled back his hood and allowed his brilliant, silver hair to spill free. _“Is this, perhaps, a sign that you’ve reconsidered my offer, Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad?”_

 

“You well know how I answered you on every previous occasion; please do not delude yourself by thinking that this day will be different.”

 

 _“Indeed,”_ the man in black said, his own amusement seeming to permeate the air around him. _“Well, if you have no intention of accepting my offer, why_ did _you call upon me?”_

 

“I wish to know more about you,” he said, knowing even as the man in black smiled in that same, sly manner of his that such a thing would only serve to encourage his ambitions, but Altaïr knew that he had come to the end of what he could learn about the man merely from observing him.

 

_“Oh? And, what will you give me in return?”_

 

“I don’t doubt you’ve been observing far more of the Brotherhood’s comings and goings than you’re telling me,” he said, watching as the expression on the man’s face changed from one of amusement to one of interest. “So, I will offer you this concession: I will leave the Apple in a location where you will be able to observe events more easily, if you will give me at least _some_ information about yourself and your goals.”

 

 _“Indeed? What an intriguing offer,”_ the man said; Altaïr reminded himself once again to ask for the man’s name when he could. _“Very well; I accept. Ask your questions.”_


	121. Little truths

“First, I would ask that you tell me your name,” he said, wondering just how this man, who clearly took pleasure in presenting himself as inscrutable, would react to such an opening.

“You may call me Kronos; he who walks through time.”

“Kronos,” he repeated tonelessly.

There remained something in him manner that gave Altaïr reason to suspect that Kronos was not truly the name of the man in black, but he was not so naïve as to think he would have any other answer on the topic, so he left it.

“How did you come to be within the Apple?”

“I have my ways.”

It was clear from the expression on his face that the man in black – whatever his true name was – would not be answering any more questions along that line, either, so Altaïr shelved his curiosity for the moment. After he had come to know the man better, he would perhaps be given the chance to ask again.

“Are there, then, any others who you have shared yourself with in this way?” he asked, curious as to just what the man would say – if he would say anything at all, in the end – of those others that Altaïr had glimpsed so briefly within the light of the Apple.

“In this way? You would be the first.”

Mysterious as ever, Altaïr mused.

On the one hand, he’d held out little hope for a true answer from this man, and yet Altaïr could not truly help his wish that the man would have been more amenable to the discussion than he was swiftly proving himself to be.

~AC: TSC~

Once she was back on the road to Alamut, after having rested for as long as she’d needed – rather longer than she had been able to tolerate, however – Maria turned her thoughts toward just what it was that she was likely to find when she met up with her stubborn goat of a husband. She knew that he was more than likely to be gazing into the Apple again, and so she would need to gather herself for the necessary task of bringing Altaïr out of the thrall of that damnable artifact. She would, naturally, need to think upon it, but the long journey she was making would give her what time she would need.

~AC: TSC~

Narrowing his eyes as he considered the information, paltry as it was, that he had been granted by the man in black, Altaïr sighed. For all the words he and the man in black – he honestly doubted that the man had given him a true name, after being so free with half-truths and cryptic statements – had shared, there was an underlying core of uncertainty to every carefully chosen half-truth that Altaïr had heard from him. Still, there was another way he might be able to gain the answers he sought.

Looking into the Apple itself was dangerous, however, and in this case might well serve to draw the attention of the man in black; he would need to be careful in how he approached such a thing.

Retiring to the room he had chosen for himself, Altaïr settled himself and tried not to think of how little progress he had truly made toward his self-appointed goals. Closing his eyes, he slowly relaxed enough to settle more deeply into his bed. He would think more on this new problem he faced in the morning.

~AC: TSC~

…a flash of walls… Towers- buildings larger than any he’d ever seen outside of the visions granted to him by the Apple, all of them under a strange moon… the young girl that he’d seen before – dark of hair with bright blue eyes – faced the man in black with the backing of strange creatures… a man with red hair walked between the fair-haired boy and the dark-haired girl… a fair-haired man and woman faced each other, while the red-haired man looked on in amusement…the red-haired man faced one of the dark-haired men on an odd looking staircase…


	122. Meeting again

When he awakened the next morning, the odd flashes of imagery that were far too coherent to be called dreamlike stayed with him as Altaïr prepared to go about his day once more. He mused, for a few moments, on the merits of bringing it up in his next discussion with the man in black, but then swiftly reconsidered. He did not know just how it was that the Apple continued to show him what seemed to be scenes from the life of the man in black.

 

Altaïr wondered again what the man’s true name was, since it was obvious from his manner that Kronos was simply a thing he called himself.

 

Making his way to the bathing chambers so that he could prepare himself to properly break his fast, Altaïr wondered once more what new information that he might be able to persuade the miserly man in black to part with; and also, what new visions the Apple would give to him in response.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Drawing within sight of the no longer quite deserted fortress of Alamut, Maria looked with some asperity at the mountain it was seated atop. She knew that, as with Masyaf, there were like as not to be trails that she would be able to navigate on horseback even at her age, but looking for the first time upon the new task she had set before her could not help but be daunting. Sighing in exasperation, already mentally preparing the thorough, scathing lecture that she intended to give Altaïr for leaving in such a way for such a reason, and particularly for bringing the Apple with him, Maria began searching for her means of ingress.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

When he had fortified himself for the next round of questions, questions that the man in black was more than likely to avoid or ignore entirely, Altaïr turned his attention to the Apple once more. Gathering himself for what he was about to do, he concentrated on the artifact until he began to see the same traceries of light pulsing within the gaps of the Apple’s surface. The man in black reappeared quickly after that.

 

 _“This is interesting,”_ he commented, soft voice matching the amused, cunning smile slowly appearing on his face. _“I must admit, I hadn’t expected to see you again this soon. This is a rare pleasure; are you_ certain _you won’t reconsider my offer?”_

 

“I am quite certain,” he said, forcing himself not to outwardly display the uncertainty that had grown within his mind as his strength slowly waned. “However, I _have_ found myself rather curious about you. You said that you were involved in the creation of Alnesr and those like him; those who bear your mark. However, I _would_ like to know if there was any true purpose behind such a thing.”

 

 _“What if I told you that they were merely a byproduct of my research?”_ the man in black asked, the amused smile on his face widening.

 

 _From you, I could believe it,_ he didn’t say. “So, your interest in them was purely academic?”

 

_“You would have far more a reason to be concerned than I.”_

 

The man’s tone would have sounded perfectly reasonable, but combined with his words and the smile on his face… Altaïr knew more than ever that he would never be able to bring himself to trust this man on any matter. No matter how well-spoken he could be when he made the effort, it was plain that the man in black had no care for anything but his own plans; Altaïr had little doubt that those plans were akin to the Templars’ own. Rather, depending upon how long the man in black had been within the Apple, Altaïr would have been more than willing to believe him the _first_ Templar.

 

If nothing else, he certainly shared their callous ways.

 

The sound of soft footfalls drew his attention, and Altaïr had only a moment to wonder just who had followed him to such a remote place as Alamut, when Maria came striding into the room. Her expression was calm, though she still radiated the kind of disapproval he’d been growing ever more used to seeing on her face as his studies of the Apple consumed more and more of his time.

 

“Alnesr told me that I would find you here,” she said, and he tried not to wince at the reminder of his first student.

 

True, he _had_ left behind in an effort to minimize the chance that whatever hold the man in black had over Alnesr – and, like as not, over all of those he had marked in such a way – would have such an adverse affect on him, but he could not help his awareness of the simple fact that he had, once again, left Alnesr with a load of responsibilities that he himself could have easily taken on.

 

 _“Well, this_ is _rather interesting,”_ the man in black said, his amused expression not seeming to change even as he turned to regard her.

 

“He speaks,” Maria said, her disdain for the man in black clear enough to him, though he was uncertain if the man himself would either know or care about such a thing.

 

The man in black vanished, the amused smile on his face remaining even as he returned to the Apple.

 

“I suppose I don’t have to ask why you came,” he said, leaving the Apple on the table as he made his way over to Maria’s side.

 

“Well, _someone_ sensible needed to be here, if only to make certain you don’t end up doing something even _more_ foolish than spending your days staring into that damnable artifact,” Maria said, her tone disapproving but with an undertone of kindness that he had always heard directed his way. “Still, I take it there’s little point in asking you to return to Masyaf.”

 

“I am sorry, Maria,” he said, reaching out to gently embrace her the way he’d not been able to help wishing to do when he had first departed for Alamut. “There are still matters that I must attend to here.”

 

“That artifact weighs too heavily on your mind, Altaïr,” Maria said sternly, folding her arms and glaring at the Apple for a moment, before turning her gaze back to him. “To say nothing of that man in black that haunts it. Are you certain that _you_ must be the one to uncover the secrets of this device, my husband?”

 

“I know of very few others who might be able to resist its illusions so well,” he said, facing her plainly so that she would be able to come to grasp his sincerity more swiftly. “And, of those that could, I am the only one who should be taking such a risk. I discovered the man in black; I feel it only proper that I find out everything I may about him.”

 

_“How terribly noble of you, Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad.”_


	123. Mind and matter

The subdued flash of light from within the grooves in the Apple’s bronze-copper surface drew the attention of both him and Maria, but Altaïr wondered if the two of them had heard the last words of the man in black, or if they had merely been for his ears alone. He could be sure of nothing, where that man was concerned. Gently guiding her from the room where he had stored the Apple, looking back only once the pair of them were out of sight of the artifact itself, Altaïr allowed himself to breathe more easily.

 

“What was that?”

 

“Did you hear what he said, at the last?” he asked, more wishing to know he was no longer alone in the face of the man in black’s near-constant, subtle and less-than-subtle mocking.

 

“I heard him say that this new situation we found ourselves in was interesting,” he said, her gaze catching his own and holding. “Yet, I have a feeling that such a thing isn’t what _you_ were referring to.”

 

“You would be right, Maria,” he said, nodding. “The man in black… Though he calls himself Kronos, I suspect that is not his true name in any sense,” pausing for a moment to gather himself, Altaïr pressed on. “I have been attempting for many days to find out anything about the man in black; anything that might help me to understand his motivations. And yet, all that I have managed to find is that the man is not a one to be trusted. He even claims that Alnesr and those like him were merely a product of some experiment he was conducting.”

 

“He sounds like a callous man,” Maria said, looking back down the corridor they were sheltering in; back toward the Apple, and the man in black that haunted it.

 

“Yes,” Altaïr said, narrowing his own eyes. “I would think him a Templar, save for the fact I doubt any of them would be particularly well-disposed toward a man so ostentatious in his mystery.”

 

“Perhaps he would not _be_ so around one of his fellow Templars,” Maria muttered, glaring back in the direction of the Apple. “Still, I suppose we’ve no way of determining that, yes?”

 

“Indeed,” he said, looking back in the direction of the artifact lying so innocuously upon the table. “However, there is also another matter I must attend to. The man in black is not the only secret that the Apple has shown me: there is something, a storehouse of some kind, hidden beneath this very fortress. I’ve reason to believe that the storehouse was created by the same people who created the Apple.”

 

“What of the man who calls himself Kronos?”

 

“I’ve little enough real knowledge of him, but what I _have_ gained suggests little that would tie him to those who created the Apple,” he said. “All other concerns aside, he does not seem like a man who would share his discoveries for any but the most dire of reasons.”

 

“I suppose you would know the man better than I,” Maria said, her tone sounding as though she was uncertain, but willing to hear him out if he had a satisfactory explanation.

 

“Yes,” he conceded, nodding; it was the work of a moment to dissuade himself from asking after Alnesr and the Brotherhood, as such a thing would serve no true purpose, in the end. Aside from that, Altaïr knew his former Apprentice had learned more than well enough to care for the Brotherhood in his absence.

 

“Aside from your curiosity about these artifacts you may or may not find, why else would you come out to a remote place like this?” Maria asked, fixing him with an expression that he could not entirely discern the meaning of.

 

“I had hoped to prevent anyone else from falling under the sway of the Apple, the way I know I have,” he said.

 

He would not stoop to deception with someone who had shared so much of their life, their very self, with him for so long. It was the one thing Altaïr was determined never to allow himself to do.

 

“Always putting the needs of others before your own,” Maria huffed, gently caressing the right side of his face. “I suppose I should stay here, if only to ensure that _you_ don’t work yourself into an early grave.”

 

He could only smile at her concern, clear for all the acerbic bite of her words. She had never truly been one to hide her disapproval of a thing behind pretense or soft words. It was a thing he admired about her, for all that he still found himself surprised to be on the wrong end of it, at times.


	124. Separate lessons

Finding himself in command of the Brotherhood once more had not been a thing that he had been entirely unprepared for, but at the moment Alnesr could not help his wish that he had at least been given _some_ idea of how long he was to remain in command. True, he’d had little enough of such when Malik had first passed the responsibility to him, but those circumstances had not been at all conductive to long-term planning or strategizing. When Altaïr himself had presented him with the responsibility, however… well, Alnesr supposed that he should have seen such a thing in the offing, considering his mentor’s increasing uncertainty during the proceeding time.

 

He could no longer clearly recall just when Altaïr had truly begun showing signs that the Apple was wearing on his mind.

 

“Mentor, I would like to introduce you to the Italians I have been speaking about,” Darim said, having arrived in the tower he’d taken up residence in while he tended to the running of the Brotherhood once more.

 

“Bring them in, then, brother,” he said, looking up from the maps he had been consulting; the departure of Altaïr and Maria both would not halt the Mongols’ advance, and so it fell to those remaining at Masyaf to continue the evacuation of those still within the fortress.  
  
“Niccolò, Maffeo, come in,” Darim said, turning back briefly to call through the door. “Rest easy, Mentor; I’ve told them what they need to know of you.”

 

“Thank you, Darim,” he said, not having been particularly eager to be looked askance at for merely the circumstances of his birth; or, if what Altaïr had said was indeed true in any sense, the machinations of the man in black.

 

Speaking with the Italians who had journeyed to meet up with the leader of the Levantine Brotherhood – who would always be Altaïr in his eyes, but such a thing would take too long to explain to those who had no inkling of the happenings within their branch of the Brotherhood – Alnesr found that they were particularly interested in forming their own branch within Italy itself.

 

“This could easily work out in favor of both of us,” he said, after hearing the Italians’ proposal from Niccolò’s own mouth; the man seemed particularly engaged with the idea, Alnesr thought that Altaïr himself would have been equally amenable to the idea. “Some of our own are still presently in need of evacuation, and there are also the copies of Masyaf’s library that need to be disseminated. If you would be willing to take some of them with you when you depart, they would be a great help to you with establishing the Brotherhood’s foothold in your homeland.”

 

“Yes, I think they would,” Niccolò said, a pleased expression spreading across his face.

 

“I was told that you had a brother?” he prompted, wondering what this man would make of an invitation to converse longer.

 

“Maffeo, yes,” Niccolò said, laughing softly, though with a rueful undertone that he was not yet equipped to understand. “He… Well, love my brother though I might, even I would say he has little head for the minutia we will be speaking of in the coming days,” Niccolò continued, in a tone that said he both loved and was exasperated by the one he was speaking of.

 

Alnesr could perfectly understand the sentiment.

 

The pair of them did indeed speak again during the intervening week that Niccolò and his brother Maffeo stayed within the fortress of Masyaf, and his encounters with Maffeo did indeed bear out Niccolò’s assessment of him. He’d little patience with those who focused solely or nearly so on combat when he’d been acting as the combat instructor for those training to be a part of the Levantine Brotherhood, but now that he was acting as Mentor while Altaïr sought out the secrets of the Apple and the man in black, he’d found that – though he was no more kindly disposed to them than before – he could at least see the utility of such people.

 

And, after a week’s time, Niccolò and his brother Maffeo did indeed depart from Masyaf; however, Niccolò swore to return as many times as he needed in order to properly introduce the teachings of the Brotherhood to the Italian branch he aimed at forming. He knew that Altaïr would be pleased to know that the teachings of the Assassins would not be lost when Masyaf likely fell to the Mongols, but he also wondered just what his mentor would make of the men who had taken it upon themselves to spread those teachings. He rather thought that his mentor would approve of Niccolò Polo, at least.


	125. Dreams of Eden

Living in the presence of the Apple for so long, searching for both information on the man in black, as well as new tools and techniques that he could bring back to the Brotherhood when he finally returned from his stay in Alamut, however long it was ultimately going to be. He found that, interestingly enough, he was able to gain far more information about the man in black through the dreams the Apple would give him after a day spent speaking with him than by speaking directly to him. Of course, given the manner and mannerisms that he had demonstrated on every occasion they’d spoken to one another, such a thing no longer surprised Altaïr in the slightest.

 

He’d seen glimpses of a woman in white who seemed to both oppose and collaborate with the man in black, and while he had wondered why she herself did not seem to inhabit the Apple, what he had seen of the end of their partnership suggested that she was not particularly kindly disposed toward the man in black.

 

Having Maria present with him, even though she still didn’t truly approve of his dalliances with either the Apple or the man in black, was a thing that he truly enjoyed. Discussing the improvements that he wished to make to the Levantine Brotherhood when he returned, as well as the new weapons and tactics that the Apple had shown him the basic ideas for, only added to the enjoyment he had. Even so, Altaïr understood that he could not remain secluded in Alamut indefinitely.

 

To say nothing of the burden he would impose on Alnesr, there was still the matter of the Mongols’ approach and intent on destroying the fortress in order to stamp out the Brotherhood itself; it was a fine jest, that he, Darim, and Alnesr had long since begun the evacuation of Masyaf, and with it the spread of the Brotherhood and their teachings. Even with the loss of Masyaf and all of the physical reminders of their brother and sister Assassins who had trained there, the loss of the rooms where he and Alnesr had spent a great deal of their formative years, meant little in the face of the ultimate safety of the Brotherhood and the spread of their teachings and ideals.

 

He could be content with that, in the end.

 

Settling himself down to sleep once more after having spent the day with Maria, devising new tactics for the Brotherhood to adopt as well as improvements to their tools that might be made, Altaïr smiled softly. This might not have been the path he had foreseen himself taking, back at the beginning of his life, but he could not truly deny that – for all the strife he had borne witness to – he had found happiness at the end of it all. Laying himself down upon the bedroll he had brought with him, he looked over at Maria with a fond smile, just before he closed his eyes.

 

_…Suspended over the towers of the strange city, he watched as the fair-haired boy – dressed in a cloak almost identical to the one worn by the man in black, save only for its size – battled against a pair with the same silver hair as the man in black himself… Drifting above another city, alike to and yet different from the one beneath the strange moon he’d glimpsed so often and yet briefly in his nightly excursions, Altaïr found himself following just behind the man in black as he himself followed the woman in white to an oddly-appointed room… Dragged along behind a man and woman he’d never thought to see before, Altaïr wondered for a long moment just who they were, until the woman turned enough for him to see that she carried a silver-haired babe in the crook of her right arm…_


	126. The Little Eagle’s secret

When he awakened, Altaïr found himself far more than slightly curious about just how the woman in white and the man in black were related to the babe he had seen in the arms of that unknown woman. There were also the matters of the fair-haired boy, the dark haired girl and her strange creatures, and the impossible-seeming city beneath its strange moon. He knew, however, that he would have no answers from the man in black regarding any of those topics, and so he simply recorded his thoughts and impressions within the codex he had dedicated to the study of the man in black.

 

He also took time to draw the pair of silver-haired figures he had glimpsed, as well as the babe and the woman who had carried him.

 

By that time, Maria had begun to wake up, and he himself was prepared to begin this latest day with her. The pair of them cleaned themselves up before breaking their fast, and Altaïr returned his attention to teasing out whatever new information he could from the Apple. And also, seeing what he could draw from the man in black when he chose to comment.

 

The day itself proved fruitful, but only with regards to his search within the Apple; the man in black was as determinedly enigmatic as ever. Still, with the extra information he was gaining from the Apple itself, Altaïr found that he no longer minded the man’s affectations quite so much as he once had. He was careful not to display that fact too outwardly, however; given his own connection to the Apple, Altaïr did not know if it was possible for the man in black to prevent the transmission of those visions if he was allowed to find out about them.

 

It was simply better that he never found out about them, so far as Altaïr was concerned.

 

When he settled himself down to sleep once more, Altaïr breathed more easily for the time he had been given to gather himself, then lay himself down beside Maria once again.

 

 _…It was a far stranger place than any city that Altaïr found himself drifting through, this night: what might have been called the sky seemed merely to be a shifting mass of stormlike clouds, shot through with what Altaïr could only describe as black lightning… It was through this strangest of landscapes that Altaïr saw the man in black moving… he could not truly describe what he was seeing as running, since the man’s feet did not seem to touch the ground as he moved, but there could be no question at all that he_ was _moving, all the same… The landscape around the man in black erupted in what Altaïr could only describe as black fire and smoke, and then Altaïr found himself standing just behind the man in black as he took his first steps in the strange city… the man in black was met by the woman in white, and he took note that the pair of them did not yet seem to recognize one another…_

 

He was almost disappointed, in a sense, to be forced to awaken from the dreams that seemed to be showing him the life of the man in black, but even then Altaïr was aware of the twin responsibilities he had – to both the Brotherhood and his own family – and so he rose from the bedroll and followed Maria as the pair of them prepared to go about their next day in this place. Once they had broken their fast again, Altaïr made his way back to the place where he had stored the Apple after stopping back in their shared room to update both of his codices.

 

Aside from the progress he was making with the Apple, and the hidden past of the man in black, Altaïr was also slowly unraveling the mystery of the location of the storehouse that had first drawn his attention to Alamut as a place of study. He knew that it was merely a matter of time before he discovered the location he’d been searching for these many weeks – or perhaps months, he would be the first to admit that time was slipping away from him the longer he spent working – and then he would have his answer as to what had drawn him to the old fortress to begin with. He still wished to know what such a thing could be, and yet at the same time he wished to know more about the man in black. It was not the first time Altaïr had found his heart torn between two desires, and he honestly doubted it would be the last.

 

Returning his mind to the task he had set before himself, Altaïr turned back to the Apple, his codex of weapons and tactics open upon the table before him.

 

_“Hard at work as usual, I see.”_

 

He’d no reason to answer the man in black, and even beyond that, such a statement did not seem to require and answer in the first place. And so Altaïr kept his attention upon his present work. He’d long since learned not to rise to the baiting of the man in black, to the point where it almost seemed that the man _expected_ to be ignored during those occasions and would honestly be disappointed with him if he _did_ react in some way or other. Altaïr did not truly know what to make of the man in black’s proclivities, but he was coming to accept that – even if he was given the whole of the man’s life to observe – he would have as little chance of coming to truly know the man in black as he did right now.

 

Once he had finished his work on the Weapon Codex, as he had privately dubbed it, Altaïr rose from his seat and made his way down the halls and corridors of Alamut to the lowest levels. That was where the Apple’s maps had indicated that he would find the storehouse; where he might find something of those who had had a hand in creating the Apple. Somewhere he might find out just what kind of people could have been behind the creation of such a potentially dangerous tool as the Apple had proven itself to be on so many occasions.

 

Making his way down to a point that he’d not yet searched, Altaïr soon found himself facing a fairly nondescript door that he was certain he’d never seen before. Considering the state of the room around him, Altaïr wondered if anyone had found this room during the times when Alamut _had_ been filled with life and activity. The room he was standing in had a profound feeling of both age and disuse to it, but he wondered if that was simply due to the age and disuse of Alamut itself, or else if it truly _was_ due to the nature of the room in itself.

 

Either way, it seemed as though he would need to have the Apple in his possession in order to gain access to the ancient door he had found himself standing before.

 

Departing again, after taking a moment to orient himself to the room that he had found, Altaïr retraced his steps back to the room with the table he’d left the Apple upon. He knew that there was little chance that the man in black would not take note of what he was doing, and even less that he would remain incurious about what he was likely to see there. Still, it was possible that the man in black would find himself distracted by such curiosity from anything else that might have thought to pursue.

 

When he finally laid his hands on the Apple again, picking it up and bringing it into the depths of Alamut, Altaïr found that he’d little need to retrace his steps once he had made it to Alamut’s lowest levels, as the Apple itself began emitting a coherent beam of the same, colorless light he had grown so used to seeing during his sessions spent plumbing the fathomless depths of the artifact. The beam stretched down the halls and corridors, always reorienting itself when he would turn a corner, and soon enough Altaïr found himself standing before the very door that he had discovered during his extensive searches of the empty fortress.

 

The light emanating from the Apple resolved into a coherent beam, and Altaïr let out a surprised breath as the light seemed to almost _flow_ through the newly-revealed grooves in the door; grooves that bore a striking resemblance to those he’d become so familiar with from his investigations of the Apple itself.

 

Watching as the door he’d discovered retracted quickly into the ceiling – a thing he’d not expected to see, and yet almost dull compared to everything else he’d come to know during his work with the Apple and the man in black both – Altaïr took a breath, and then stepped into the darkened room beyond. It did not long remain that way: cold, blue lights sprang to life as he passed the threshold, following his footsteps as he walked. He found it interesting that these lights sprang from the floor underneath him, and so in more senses than one were following in his footsteps.

 

_“A familiar place, after all this time.”_

 

Turning slightly at the voice of the man in black, Altaïr observed the expression on the man in black’s face. He seemed rather more amused than pensive, and while that was an expected expression from him, he still wondered at it. Pushing those thoughts from his mind, knowing that there was little chance he would ever find out anything more than the scraps that the man in black could be cajoled into revealing about himself, Altaïr continued deeper into the storehouse.

 

He did not know exactly what he would find in the storehouse, but given all he had learned from the Apple – dangerous as the artifact was, even to those who used it with the greatest of intentions – he’d at least _some_ idea what to expect. Still, the matter of the man in black was another thing he would need to keep in mind. If only so he was not taken by surprise when the man inevitably appeared again.


	127. Distant familiarity

Composing her weekly report for Alnesr back at Masyaf, Maria contemplated requesting that Darim come out to Alamut to meet with them. She’d seen the way her husband looked, the way he seemed to fall deeper and deeper into that damnable Apple the more time the pair of them spent in this place. She knew that such a thing could not be good for him, and she’d a thought that showing her stubborn old goat of a husband what he stood to lose would persuade him to – if not give up his delving into the artifact entirely, which she had realized was incredibly unlikely at this point – take a slower and more cautious route toward gaining the answers he was seeking from the artifact. She knew, however, that no matter what she did, Alnesr would fret about what could be happening at Alamut.

 

It was only natural, since Altaïr – the stubborn oaf – had raised him as a father long before she and the old goat had said their first word to each other.

 

Sighing as she returned her attention to the report she was making, Maria decided that she would make one more attempt to speak with her husband, before she told her last remaining son about her concerns for his father. Levering herself out of her seat with some difficulty, which only served to remind her of just how old the pair of them were truly getting, Maria made her way down into the lower levels of Alamut.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Settling himself back down behind the desk he had taken up residence behind for the three years that Altaïr and Maria had been away investigating the mysteries of the Apple within the abandoned fortress of Alamut, Alnesr reflected that curiosity – while it _had_ served his mentor well in the past – could be just as dangerous as any blade when not handled properly. Everything he was reading in Maria’s reports, though couched in terms that were clearly meant to reassure anyone reading them, indicated that Altaïr was delving deeply enough into the artifact to cause her no small amount of concern.

 

It was causing just the same for him, and all the worse because he knew that – for various reasons, each as important as the last – he could not go haring off to Alamut, no matter his own wishes to the contrary.

 

Putting those thoughts out of his mind, knowing that they no longer served him in any sense, Alnesr turned himself toward the tasks set before him at present. Niccolò and his brother Maffeo had returned to the fortress a day ago, Niccolò in search of further lore concerning the Levantine Brotherhood, and Maffeo simply interested in learning new fighting styles from anyone who would take the time to instruct him; currently, Alnesr’s own successor, Abdul Al-Karim. He’d informed the elder Italian about the nature of his appointment as interim-Mentor of the Levantine Brotherhood, and while Niccolò had inevitably been surprised by the revelation, he’d soon come around.

 

He was now rather curious, and about as eager to meet Altaïr when he returned to Masyaf as Alnesr was for his mentor to return.

 

For the moment, however, Niccolò seemed content with asking him to share tales of his and Altaïr’s life together. When asked, he’d said that it was for a book he was writing, so that the tales of the legendary Assassin Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad would not be forgotten with the passage of time. Alnesr did not like to think himself conceited, but when Niccolò had spoken of his desire, he could not help but wonder just what his role in Niccolò’s proposed book was to be.

 

Sighing as he drove those thoughts from his mind with an effort of will, Alnesr turned his mind back to the work he was presently engaged in; Niccolò’s book would keep, but Altaïr would de disappointed in him if he neglected his duties to the Brotherhood for his own curiosity.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

He could see the way that Alnesr – his elder brother in all but blood – drove himself relentlessly forward, simply to please the shadow of his father that seemed to hang as a shroud over Masyaf fortress. Even as the fortress itself continued to steadily empty, with Alnesr’s time devoted almost entirely towards the evacuation of the remaining Assassins within the fortress and the resettlement of citizens in the town – just in case the Mongols were not satisfied with destroying the fortress itself – rather than accepting missions to improve the standing of the Brotherhood as a whole, Darim continued to watch him. Truly, Alnesr was more alike in temperament to Altaïr than either he or Sef had been.

 

It was a thing that had both benefits and setbacks, but Darim was fully aware that it was not a thing that could be changed by merely wishing it so; so, even as Maria had seemed to appoint herself as Altaïr’s caretaker, Darim had vowed that he would be so for his elder brother.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

When Niccolò and Maffeo Polo had departed again – with yet another promise to return when they could on Niccolò’s part, and some minor grumbling on that of Maffeo – Alnesr returned his mind to the evacuation of Masyaf and the small town that the fortress stood sentinel over.


	128. False brothers and true

Seated upon his bedroll, writing down what he had learned of the life of Seth – the first of those marked by the man in black, and the only one who seemed to have encountered the woman in white, even if only while he was slumbering – Altaïr sighed softly. It seemed that the old stories, though distorted in a great many ways, held more truth in them than he’d thought. There _had_ been a man and woman by the name of Adam and Eve, and they _had_ eventually raised two sons by the name of Cain and Abel. He did not think the stories mentioned another brother by the name of Seth, but Cain had in fact killed Abel.

 

However, their dispute had been over the possession of the Apple itself, rather than less tangible matters.

 

Frowning down at the inoffensive codex in his lap, Altaïr recalled what else Cain had done. The first murder was not the only crime that the man who would become the first Templar was guilty of, so far as Altaïr was concerned: Cain had used the Apple on Seth, binding his brother’s mind and blinding him to everything else that existed in the world. However, if that had been the worst of it – Cain casting his elder brother’s mind into bondage by an accidental use of the Apple’s power in such close proximity – Altaïr would not have held such enmity for a man so long dead.

 

Such had _not_ been the end of things, however, and Cain had _not_ been merely fumbling about with the Apple while his older brother was close enough to make such a thing more dangerous than it would have otherwise been. No, Cain had _deliberately_ bound his older brother’s mind, drawing him deep enough into the Apple that Seth could not have hoped to escape on his own; he had also attempted to compel Seth – who seemed to be a kind and generous man, given what Altaïr had seen of him – to throttle Abel to death with his own hands.

 

Even _that_ had not been the end of things, depraved as it ultimately was.

 

No, the true horror of the situation was the way Cain had treated his brother _after_ he had bound Seth’s mind within the Apple: he kept him that way for the rest of both their lives, and even attempted to breed Seth as though his brother were a prized mule or a hound. It was truly nothing less than Altaïr had grown to expect from the Templars after meeting Naplouse, and as Cain had been the first of their kind, while Altaïr remained disgusted with the man’s actions, he also found that he was unsurprised by the fact of them. He’d seen too much depravity from those who sided with the Templars to expect anything less from the man who founded them.

 

Still, knowing yet another fate that he had spared Alnesr by taking him in when he did gave Altaïr all the more reason to seek out those others who shared his circumstances; to bring them into the Brotherhood, where they would not only have protection from those who might exploit them, but where they could also learn to protect _themselves_ when their situation called for such.

 

To that end, Altaïr was working to update his codices, telling the tale of Seth and Cain in the codex dedicated to the man in black, his associates, and those marked by him; and of the formation of the Templars themselves in the one reserved for the edification of the Brotherhood as a whole. He was determined to see that none of Seth’s other descendants – none of those who shared Alnesr’s circumstances – would ever find themselves so exploited by those who should have been their companions. Or, in the unfortunate cases that their own family reacted as badly to their appearance as the man who had killed Alnesr’s mother, the Brotherhood would know enough to take them in before they could be harmed overmuch.

 

Settling himself back upon his bedroll, Altaïr reflected on everything he’d learned during the time he’d spent working with the Apple. There was also the matter of the disks he’d collected from the storehouse beneath Alamut. They seemed to be able to record memories from the one who held them; he’d been thinking back on the circumstances that had led to his first meeting with Alnesr, and while he hadn’t thought much about the sheer clarity of his recollections at the time, the glow of the disk under his hands had drawn his attention when he came back to himself.

 

It had been an odd thing, to walk through memories that had faded with time, only to find them as sharp and clear as the day he’d lived them. It was that very thing that had given him the idea to record his most relevant memories, so far as the Levantine Brotherhood was concerned, and preserve them on more of those disks for the benefit of future Assassins. Since he had already recorded the memory of his first meeting with Alnesr, he’d placed that disk with his first codex and then gone back to the storehouse to find six more.

 

The first three were already imprinted, as he’d already possessed important memories that he wished to share with future members of the Brotherhood. The last three, however, waited empty; he would record important memories from the latter days of his life upon them. Levering himself up and out of his bedroll, Altaïr went to wash his hands a last time before he settled himself down to sleep for the night.

 

_…Finding himself drifting through the strange city beneath its strange moon, Altaïr wondered for a moment just why he had been returned to this place, before he saw the fair-haired boy and the pair of silver-haired men – one clearly younger than the other – battling one another… the silver-haired men joined hands – the elder’s right to the younger’s left, and purple-black smoke erupted around them… the red-haired man knelt at the side of the fair-haired boy as he slumbered, wrapped in a black blanket that had exquisitely detailed blue butterflies seemingly sewn into the very fabric…_


	129. Son and Brother

Awakening at his usual time, Alnesr made his way to the private dining room he had been using even before Altaïr had placed him in command of the Levantine Brotherhood; he and Altaïr had often broken their fast in this place, before he would leave for his training sessions with Abdul Al-Karim. Allowing himself to reflect on those now-distant times while he ate, Alnesr took a moment to clear his mind as he finished his meal. There would be no true purpose in allowing himself to become lost in nostalgia, even though there were times he still wished to do so.

 

Niccolò and Maffeo had left merely a day ago, and though he hadn’t said anything to suggest it, Darim had seemed to be paying closer attention to him for some reason or other. He’d not had much time to consider his brother Assassin’s motives for such an interest, considering all the work he still needed to do; the last shelves were being steadily emptied, their contents transcribed so they could be disseminated alongside the groups of departing Assassins that still dwelt in Masyaf.

 

Moving back into the Master’s tower once he had fully broken his fast, Alnesr turned his mind to matters of import to the Levantine Brotherhood; he had an evacuation to mind, and efforts at copying to oversee.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

He still had a great deal of work to do, but Darim made a point of checking on Alnesr whenever he was given the time, or else could take it. His brother Assassin seemed to be managing as well as anyone could ask of him, and all of those who looked to him for guidance seemed to be well-served, but Darim knew that his brother would need those around him who would aid him in seeing to those matters within the Brotherhood that he no longer had the time to. Such as the way Abdul Al-Karim had taken Alnesr’s former post of combat instructor to the few Assassins who remained within the fortress.

 

Niccolò and Maffeo Polo had been expressing a great deal of interest in meeting their father, ever since they had learned that Alnesr was acting in his stead while the Master himself investigated the matters of Alamut and the Apple, and what secrets they might well hold. On the one hand, Darim had often found _himself_ curious as to just what it was that his father had ultimately found; but on the other, he would not wish to expose anyone else to the lure of the Apple, after all he had seen it do to his father.

 

He was certain that Alnesr would have agreed, if he’d wished to distract his eldest brother from the work that he was still doing.

 

Still, all that really meant in practice was that _he_ was the one who interacted with Niccolò and Maffeo more than any of their remaining brother and sister Assassins. Under the circumstances, he’d been delegating more of the work he had remaining to his juniors, foremost among them being Abdul Al-Wali, who had been particularly eager to contribute his service. Darim could at least be pleased with the progress they were all making; the Mongols might very well be able to destroy Masyaf fortress, but the Levantine Brotherhood would endure.

 

As well, the Brotherhood itself would spread across the world.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Composing his own report, to inform Maria and Altaïr of the current goings on within Masyaf and the steady advance of the Mongols into Assassin-held territory, Alnesr wondered for a long moment if he should repeat his query as to just when the pair of them would be returning to Masyaf. He did not particularly wish to irritate his mentor and Maria with repeated queries, and yet he _did_ wish to know just when the pair of them thought they would be returning. Or else, if they’d not decided on that particular matter as yet, just what it was that kept them there.

 

After considering the matter from every angle he was aware of, Alnesr decided not to add such a thing to his report; truly, it would only serve the most selfish of purposes, and he’d no true desire to trouble his mentor with matters that were ultimately unimportant in the grand scheme of things.


	130. Home and Heart

It had taken nearly as long to extract the Apple’s secrets as it had to hunt down the leader of the Mongols, and while he still had the nagging feeling that he’d not managed to find all of them, but Maria had been insistent that a decade was more than enough time to spend chasing the shadows of the past. He’d relented, knowing that, even with their advancing years, Maria would have physically dragged him from the room if he’d attempted to insist upon staying within the crumbling walls of Alamut for yet another day.

 

Since he’d no wish to cause her any further distress or aggravation, Altaïr had quickly packed the Apple, his two codices, and the provisions that he had brought with him, and together the pair of them had departed for their return journey to Masyaf.

 

The pair of them had made camp for the night at a waterhole, somewhere very close to the small town that Masyaf village had long since sprouted into.

 

Altaïr found himself awakening at the sounds of a scuffle, turning his gaze to see just what it was that had drawn his attention. Out of the corner of his left eye he saw Maria sitting up as well, already beginning to reach for her weapons, but in the main his attention was focused on the men he suspected were brigands. There was no other reason for what was clearly an Assassin scouting party to be attacking them.

 

These new Assassins he could see seemed to be well led, given the way they fought and the manner in which they closed around the merchant they were protecting. Smiling to see the next generation of Assassins – likely to be the _last_ , considering the Mongols and the state of the fortress – that had been trained within the walls of Masyaf, Altaïr helped Maria to her feet and the pair of them watched as the brigands were dealt with. For a fleeting moment, Altaïr found himself almost wishing that he himself could have taken part in the battle unfolding before him.

 

But that was utter nonsense for any number of reasons; foremost among them being that Altaïr the Assassin lived in the past, and while he _had_ been sparring with Maria at her insistence, he knew that his speed, strength, and stamina had still waned with his increasing age.

 

Smiling as the last of the brigands was dealt with, Altaïr made his way over to the young man who seemed to be directing the scouting party that had happened upon them.

 

“Thank you for coming to our aid,” he said, making his way over to the young man. “Would you mind giving me your name, brother?”

 

“I am Adel Al-Rashid, Mentor,” the young man said. “Master Alnesr informed us that we were to be on the lookout for you, and to escort you back to Masyaf if we were the ones to find you.”

 

“I will have to remember to thank him when we see each other,” he said, smiling gently as he and Maria made their way back to the horses they had been riding.

 

The same smile stayed upon his face as their group drew closer to the small town that Masyaf fortress currently overlooked. He might not have known precisely what would happen to the small town, without the Assassins present to protect it, but Altaïr was pleased all the same to be returning to it. Masyaf had been his home for all the years of his life, and while it was clear that the Levantine Brotherhood was going to need to leave it soon, Altaïr knew that the place would remain in his thoughts even after the last Assassin had deserted it.

 

When all of them had returned to the fortress, leaving Mukhlis the merchant to find his own way home through the streets of the small town, Altaïr smiled as Maria sidled up next to him, wrapping her right arm around his shoulders.

 

“I’m glad you managed to come back to your senses,” Maria said, her smile rather wry as she turned her gaze to him.

 

He laughed softly. “I suppose I should be thankful, then, that you were with me during that time.”

 

The pair of them shared wry grins, and continued on down the path up to the fortress of Masyaf.

 

When their group finally made their way back inside the walls of the fortress, Altaïr looked around at those Assassins that remained within Masyaf, smiling softly as he observed their comings and goings. He was proud, both to have had a hand in laying the foundations of the improvements he could see, and to know that it had been his guidance that had carried Alnesr through the difficulties that would have inevitably appeared before him on his own path toward the future.

 

He would be sure to tell his brother Assassin just that, when the pair of them met up once more.


	131. Guardian and Master

“Uncle! The sentries reported that Altaïr and Maria have returned to Masyaf!”

 

Tazim’s sudden outburst had effectively silenced the conversation taking place between himself and the Polo brothers, and he noticed that Niccolò seemed to be just as interested in the boy’s words as he was.

 

“Indeed?” he asked, rising from behind Altaïr’s desk.

 

He spared a brief moment to apologize to the Polo brothers for what was to be his swift and sudden departure, only for Niccolò to laugh and offer to accompany him on his way. He’d accepted the man’s offer, since he’d seemed both earnest about such, as well as eager to meet the true Master of the Levantine Brotherhood. The pair of them paced each other on their way down through the fortress and out to the main gates.

 

Catching his first glimpse of the welcoming party that had gathered around Altaïr and Maria, Alnesr smiled as he began to make his way up to the gathering crowd as they continued on their way up the remaining distance. His smile only grew as he began to hear the warm greetings that Altaïr was being offered by those he was passing on his way to Masyaf’s gates, and Alnesr moved through them swiftly, even as they parted to allow him to pass.

 

“It’s good to see you again, Master,” he said, once he had come close enough that his own words would not be lost within the general chattering of the gathered crowd.

 

“I’m pleased to see how well you have managed in my absence, Alnesr.”

 

It was only when his brother Assassin – his mentor, and the only father he had ever truly known – turned to face him for the first time in a decade that Alnesr realized just how long those years had _truly_ been. Yes, he’d been aware of the passage of days and weeks, and then of months and years on top of them, but somehow he’d not fully appreciated the length of time that stood between the child he’d once been, and the Assassin he’d grown to be.

 

“Master, you’ve-” Alnesr began, then quickly bit the tip of his tongue before he could say something so ill-mannered

 

“I’ve grown old, yes?” his mentor returned, the twinkling of gentle amusement in his eyes not lessening one bit, nor the smile on his face.

 

“You said it, Master, not I,” he said, smiling back as Altaïr’s own smile grew into a grin.

 

“I could tell that you were thinking it,” Altaïr said, chuckling softly as the pair of them embraced. “Come; we’ve both more matters to attend to than just my welcome.”

 

“Of course, Altaïr,” he said, falling into step with his mentor and the Mentor of the Levantine Brotherhood as the pair of them made their way back into the fortress.

 

Maria was quick to join them, and Darim was not far behind her; Alnesr was pleased, both to have the entirety of the small family he and Altaïr had gathered about them present, and to be able to set aside the increased load of responsibilities that he had been laboring under while acting as Mentor of the Levantine Brotherhood. He and Altaïr spoke of matters that he’d not written up in his letters for one reason or another, with Maria and Darim both making their own contributions to the conversation when they could.


	132. Assassins of Italia

He found that Altaïr was planning to continue his delving into the Apple, since there had been a great many things that he had wished to record from such, but his mentor had found himself sharply limited by a lack of materials in Alamut. He also, naturally, wished to visit Abbas’ gravesite; the old, bitter man having passed away silently in his secluded room within the depths of Masyaf. Neither he nor Altaïr had possessed any true desire to allow Abbas to waste away locked in Masyaf’s dungeons, but likewise neither of them had been enough of a fool to think that Abbas would not take the chance at vengeance if he thought that such was being offered to him.

 

And, in the frame of mind their old brother – the man he’d once called uncle, all those decades ago – had chosen to remain in, he would see any lessening of the intensity of his imprisonment as such a chance.

 

And so, he and Altaïr had agreed that Abbas would have to live out the rest of his life in seclusion, and had prepared the room that he was confined in for the remainder of his days, rather than letting him waste away in the dungeons. Still, there were few days that Alnesr did _not_ wish for things to have turned out differently. However, he was fully aware of the fact that wishing, as he sometimes did, would not change the circumstances he was faced with.

 

Once he, Altaïr, and Darim had returned to Altaïr’s own study, Alnesr was able to formally step down from the post of Mentor in favor of his own mentor.

 

“Thank you, both of you, for seeing to the growth and stability of the Brotherhood while I was away,” Altaïr said, after having gently embraced the pair of them as he and Darim had stood side-by-side in Altaïr’s study.

 

“I am only glad that I could live up to your expectations, Altaïr,” he said; even after all the years separating Alnesr the Apprentice from Alnesr the Assassin, it still felt odd sometimes, not to have to call Altaïr Master.

 

There were still matters that needed to be attended to, before the pair of them could pay a visit to Abbas’ grave, and Alnesr gave what help he could to ease his mentor’s transition back into being the Mentor of the Levantine Brotherhood. Niccolò had offered to wait until the two of pair of them had finished paying their respects, and Alnesr had thanked him for his consideration. The Italian and his brother were waiting in the library, just four floors below the room where he, Altaïr, and Darim discussed the happenings at Masyaf.

 

Maria provided her own perspective on those events, naturally, but for the most part she seemed content to listen to their perspective on the events of the past decade.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Once he’d retaken the position of Mentor from Alnesr, he’d also taken the opportunity to promote his brother Assassin as his right hand. He’d already done so well, during the decade that Altaïr had spent seeking out the secrets contained within the Apple, and with Abdul Al-Karim having taken over the duties of combat instructor for their remaining brother and sister Assassins, Alnesr himself seemed happy to be of continued assistance.

 

Once he had finished settling back into his routine as Mentor of the Levantine Brotherhood – he wondered, for a moment, just how many other branches there were now, with the Polo brothers working with them to spread the ideals of the Assassins outward from Masyaf – Altaïr found Alnesr, and the pair of them made their way out to the garden that Hassan Al-Sabbah himself had laid the foundation for.

 

The peace of that very garden at twilight seeped slowly into his soul, steadying Altaïr for what he was going to see when he and Alnesr arrived at their chosen destination.

 

“So, this is where you chose to put him,” he said, looking down at the lonely marker that stood over Abbas’ grave.

 

“I don’t know if he would have wanted it, at the end, but this was where I had the fondest memories of him.”

 

“Yes,” he said, feeling a small, reflective smile pulling at his lips.

 

This had been one of the places the three of them would most often rest from their days’ labors, talking about the lessons they had learned, or occasionally discussing their shared training sessions.

 

“I still mourn what he was,” Alnesr said, glancing briefly at him before returning his gaze to the small, unadorned grave marker. “What he could have been, if he’d chosen differently.”

 

“I find myself doing the same, sometimes,” he said, gently embracing Alnesr as the pair of them stood vigil at Abbas’ lonely grave.

 

It was some time later, by the positioning of the sun, when he and Alnesr roused themselves from their mourning and made their way into the library where the Polo brothers had been sent to await him. The elder brother, Niccolò, seemed to be far more eager to speak with him than Maffeo; Altaïr was not certain how he felt about a man who had all but admitted that he preferred combat to learned discourse, but he was willing to tolerate the man so long as he continued to behave in a calm and civil manner.

 

He and Niccolò had a great deal to discus, foremost among the topics in question being his desire to truly begin recording the knowledge that the Apple contained, this time in a far more comprehensive manner. What he presently wished of Niccolò was for the man to continue aiding in the evacuation of Masyaf, and the spread of the teachings of the Brotherhood alongside it. He was pleased to note that there was now the foundations of an Italian branch of the Brotherhood, and plans to spread beyond even there.

 

Niccolò also seemed eager to be told the story of his life; he seemed to have been of the same mind as Altaïr himself, when he’d been writing his personal codex. As he’d had no particular reason to object to such a reasonable request, and all the less so since he’d been doing something very much like that for so long already. Arranging their respective schedules to better facilitate the meetings that they wished to have was rather simple, since with fewer Assassins and almost no missions in this area of the world, so he and Niccolò were satisfied with that.


	133. Turn of the cycle

Finding himself taking on nearly the same set of responsibilities that he had been laboring under while Altaïr had been in seclusion within the fortress of Alamut, Alnesr could not help but be amused. He’d not thought that his routine would return _entirely_ to what it had once been, as both he and Altaïr had changed over the course of their separation, and his mentor clearly wished to discover whatever remaining secrets that the Apple might hold. Still, he’d not truly expected so _little_ to change in the wake of his mentor’s return to Masyaf.

 

It was a strange thing, for all that he had tried to prepare himself for whatever had ultimately come of Altaïr’s return.

 

He’d also been the focus of more attention from Niccolò Polo, once the man had begun meeting with Altaïr on a regular basis. It seemed that, considering their close association for so long, he himself had caught the attention of the Italian. It was a rather interesting thing, to speak so candidly with a man about his past and the work he had done with Altaïr for a great many years of his life.

 

Everything was not so calm as he wished, however: he was beginning to hear far-off whispers and mutterings at the edge of his awareness, as though there was someone trying to speak with him, but they were too far distant to register as anything more than meaningless noise. Altaïr’s studies of the Apple were progressing steadily, to hear Maria tell it, though it was clear to anyone with ears that she didn’t approve in the slightest. Alnesr did not know if he agreed or not, since he was never able to come within reach of the Apple while Altaïr was gazing into it without suffering the loss of his sense of time.

 

He did not know if such were indeed due to the machinations of the mysterious man in black that Altaïr had spoken of on several occasions, but if that was indeed the case, he was not remotely fond of the man for that reason alone.

 

Breathing deeply to steady himself, having tensed up as he recalled the times when he had lost his senses to the Apple all of those times – both with Rashid and with Altaïr himself – Alnesr settled himself back into his seat. It would not do for him to become overly emotional about a thing that could not, in the end, be helped. Sighing as he returned his attention to his current work, Alnesr wondered for a moment just what all of his work was going to amount to, in the end.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Having both Altaïr and the younger Assassin that seemed to be his most favored apprentice – or else his only one; he’d not gained more than the beginning of the story thus far – present in the same location was a good thing for him. Even better was the fact that the pair of them were altogether willing to share the stories of their respective lives with him. He was also learning, from Altaïr himself, about the apparent presence of a man shrouded in black haunting the Apple itself.

 

It was a strange thing to consider, that there might be a man within the Apple, a man who did not seem to have a body; a man who had seemingly refined his mind to the point where it was all he needed to truly exist.

 

Niccolò did not truly know what to make of such a man, but he had the impression that Altaïr did not fully trust him. Alnesr, conversely, had a more distant sort of dislike, seemingly based upon the fact that he could not remain in a room where the Apple was active without losing his senses. Niccolò often wondered how such a thing was possible, but it was more than clear to him that neither Altaïr nor Alnesr wished to speak in detail about those particular experiences.

 

He would not wish to cause any undue anguish to the Assassins hosting him and his brother within the walls of Masyaf, so he did not ask such things of them.

 

He’d produced many pages of the manuscripts that he was assembling, one about Altaïr’s past and one detailing that of Alnesr, and was presently taking the time to organize them. Reflecting back on what he had learned while he read over the manuscript detailing Altaïr’s life and work, Niccolò organized and sorted them as he paged through them. Continuing on to the manuscript for Alnesr, Niccolò wondered just how the man in black related to Alnesr and those others that Altaïr had mentioned.

 

He’d seen some of them around the fortress: those with eyes and hair the same color as Alnesr possessed, as well as sharing their coloring with the man in black, according to Altaïr. He could also see just why it was that Altaïr desired to protect them, as it was unlikely that they would truly be able to make a place for themselves in the world at large. It was a sad truth, but still true all the same, that those who did not fit in with others around them were often singled out and persecuted.

 

After hearing how Alnesr had nearly been killed before he had truly lived, Niccolò could not deny that those who shared Alnesr’s appearance would be safer under the wings of the Brotherhood.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

Breathing heavily as he forcibly extracted his mind from the Apple, Altaïr flicked his eyes toward the suddenly-appearing form of the man in black. He was not about to give the man the satisfaction of drawing his attention so suddenly. Drawing himself up from where he had stumbled, Altaïr made his way toward his desk to record the new information that he had gathered from the Apple.

 

“I’ve no need of your offers,” he said, before the man could speak a single word. “You know the answer I will give.”

 

_“Of course.”_

 

The expression on his face was as typically avaricious as he’d ever seen on the man, but Altaïr put such a thing out of his mind. It was far from the first time that the man in black had spoken to him in such a way, and he rather doubted that it would be the last. It was simply the man’s own personality coming through in his interactions with those who held the Apple in their possession.

 

Out of the corner of his left eye, Altaïr saw the man in black vanishing back into the depths of the Apple, and Altaïr continued his writing. He’d long since recorded his observations about the man in black within the codex that detailed the appearance of the man in black, his associates, and those others that he had marked as his own. And so, he felt no pressing need to record something so common.


	134. Last days of Masyaf

He’d been receiving increasingly frequent reports of Mongol skirmishing parties making incursions into the edges of Assassin-held territory, but when he’d made his reports to Altaïr on the matter, his mentor would simply tell him to continue with the work they had already begun. Altaïr said that it was more important that the Brotherhood as a whole survived, even if scattered across the world, than it was for Masyaf fortress to survive the attack they all knew was coming.

 

And yes, while Alnesr would mourn the destruction of the only home he had ever known, he also understood that the Brotherhood as a whole was far more important than any of the fortresses that they had happened to inhabit.

 

And so, Alnesr continued about his work, coordinating and directing the evacuation of Masyaf’s few remaining Assassins, and the dissemination of the knowledge that had been gathered there. He was also disciplining himself to ignore the strange, soft voice that muttered incessantly at the edges of his hearing. The voice had not grown more coherent since he’d first begun to hear it, merely loud enough that he struggled to ignore it even with the self-discipline that had been instilled in him during his life.

 

There was also the rather disconcerting matter of the strange, black-shrouded figure that had been appearing in the extreme corners of his vision wherever he looked; it had merely been a week since the figure had first appeared, and Alnesr had been about to go to Altaïr with his troubles, only to remember that his mentor had duties of his own. It would not have been right to burden his mentor with such problems, not when Altaïr had enough of his own. He knew that their departure of Masyaf, necessary as it may have been, weighed heavily on his mentor’s mind as well.

 

Not only because Altaïr had told him just that, but because he knew his mentor well; knew the look in his eyes when he would speak of their coming departure; Altaïr mourned the loss of Masyaf as much as he did.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

He knew that he would need to send Alnesr away, knew that – with the hold the Apple now maintained on his mind – the man in black only grew stronger; able to walk more freely in the world, and able to make himself heard to someone who had not even touched the Apple in the first place. He knew he would need to send Alnesr away soon, and so he made plans. He would send his first student – the eldest of his sons – away with one of the departing groups of Assassins that were being sent away at such regular intervals lately.

 

He was pleased to know that Alnesr was able to remain so composed, even in the face of his brother Assassin’s clear nostalgia for the fortress and their shared past within it; but the past was just that, and nothing could truly bring it back save in memories, and he and Alnesr both knew that well.

 

It was why he was not, in the end, worried overmuch for his eldest son’s mental state: he knew that Alnesr would endure whatever trials were set before him. They had managed together, and he could see that Alnesr was managing on his own. It was good, but such a thing could not help but to make him feel their respective ages all the more keenly.

 

Speaking with Niccolò Polo helped to bring his thoughts away from those matters, giving him something else to occupy his thoughts when he wasn’t studying the Apple or musing on what might become of the Brotherhood now that he had changed them so much from what they had once been. Still, the times themselves had changed, and the Assassins had to change with them if they were to survive. It was a thing he had learned well, after so many years; he’d not soon forget the lesson.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

It had been Maria that had given him directions to leave with one of the departing groups of half-trained Assassins – those who would have been known as Novice and Apprentice, back during Masyaf’s height – but as he’d yet to glimpse Altaïr without the Apple close at hand, Alnesr knew just why she’d done such a thing. He’d a passing wish, at times, that he could speak more than a handful of words to his mentor without being in danger of losing his senses, but there was clearly nothing for that.

 

He would have to live on, without the comfort of his mentor’s voice.

 

 _On the subject of voices…_ Alnesr opened his hand, setting down the qalam before the tension in his hand could snap the fragile instrument. The strange voice he had been not quite hearing had not abated with his departure from Masyaf; if anything, they had only become all the more persistent. They had also become more coherent, even if only partially so; the phrase “almost ready” was the all he could make out from the nigh-incomprehensible stream of syllables he became fully aware of at any and every time he would find time to relax from his work.

 

He’d tried, therefore, to keep himself occupied as much as he could; training the younger Assassins and passing on the knowledge he had gained from his decades of working within the Brotherhood. Still, some of the knowledge he possessed was undone by reforms that Altaïr himself had made, and so it was not entirely his to teach, but to learn as well. He’d not been entirely unprepared for such to be the case, and it _did_ serve to keep his mind occupied on those early mornings and late nights when he could not train his brother and sister Assassins in the way of their Creed.

 

It helped, in that way; the only time he found himself troubled by the murmurs at the edges of his hearing was when he prepared to sleep, and the small hours of the morning just after he had awakened. It was a small thing, but he could be grateful for that, at least.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

She thought it was rather sad, seeing Masyaf so deserted after all the work Altaïr and Alnesr had done to reclaim it, but her husband had been quite logical and persuasive in his arguments. She knew that the Mongols were nearly upon their doorstep, could not help but know it after all the reports she’d received concerning their activities over the past few months. Altaïr had said that the Assassins needed to change with the world they lived in, and while she had agreed with his assessment, she had wondered for a moment just what the Templars would do in response.

 

She’d spent so much of her life as a member of the Order, she couldn’t truly help wondering what they were at, sometimes.

 

She’d also taken over Alnesr’s duties, overseeing the evacuation and collaborating with Darim on matters concerning the remaining books in Masyaf’s vast library, as Alnesr had been sent away for his own protection. She’d made her disapproval on his rampant overuse of the Apple quite clear, and while it was clear that Altaïr himself agreed with her, it was also clear that Altaïr could not bring himself to let go of the Apple. She mourned for that, and tried to help where she could.

 

It was one of the many reasons that she would not return to the Templar Order, even if she was offered the chance. Settling down at what had once been Alnesr’s desk, Maria gathered herself to continue with the work that Alnesr had begun.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

This was not how he would have chosen to be awakened – by the sounds of sudden shouting, and people running about with swords clashing – but Niccolò had known for a great long time that the Mongols were on their way to Masyaf fortress. His and Maffeo’s possessions had long since been loaded aboard their ship, and now all that remained was for them to escape the grasp of the Mongols. He knew that the Assassins who remained would do their utmost to see that he and Maffeo escaped from the trap that Masyaf had become, but if his brother thought that the dark looks he kept sending over would keep Niccolò from finishing the codex he was writing, his brother was doomed to be disappointed.

 

The codex in his hands would provide both answers and guidance to future generations of Assassins; Niccolò could not have been more certain of it.

 

Joining the thin but steady stream of people making their way down to the courtyard, Niccolò found Altaïr presiding over the gathering. He could not help but wonder what Altaïr made of such a place, after all he had seen and done. It was, after all, the same courtyard that had seen his first meeting with Abbas; that had witnessed the fight that had ended their friendship; that had seen Altaïr himself shamed before the whole of the fortress, and it was also where Abbas had ultimately been laid to rest.

 

Niccolò almost thought that a reflective expression had come over the Master’s face, but such a thing could have easily been his own thoughts imposed on Altaïr’s expression.

 

“Brothers, our time together was brief, I know. But, I have faith that this codex will answer any questions you have yet to ask.” It was with a gentle smile on his face that Altaïr handed over a large book, and Niccolò looked it over with all due reverence.

 

It was, after all, a distillation of all the wisdom that the Master had extracted during the course of the two decades he had spent dealing with the Apple.

 

“Altaïr,” he said, overcome to the point where it was difficult to form words. “This gift… it’s invaluable. _Grazie_.”

 

“So, where do you and yours intend to go next?”

 

“Back to Constantinople for a time,” he said, smiling. “We can bring you news of Alnesr’s guild, before returning to _Venezia_.”

 

“Thank you,” the Master said, with a gentle smile, then he chuckled softly. “Your son, Marco, will doubtless be eager to hear his father’s wild stories.”

 

“He’s a little young for such tales,” he said, smiling at the Master’s good humor. “But, one day soon, _sí_.”

 

“A last favor, Niccolò,” the Master said, his expression becoming grave once more as he passed over a heavily-laden bag. “Take these with you, and guard them well. Hide them, if you must.”

 

Looking down at the bag with a raised brow, Niccolò saw the Master nod, and opened the bag once he’d been given leave to do so.

 

“Artifacts from Alamut?” he mused aloud; each of them – five in all – seemed to be made of stone, and all of them were perfectly rounded disks with holes the size of a small coin through the center.

 

“Of a kind,” the Master said, the expression on his face becoming pensive. “They are keys; each one of them imbued with a message.”

 

“A message?” he echoed. “For whom?”

 

The Master sighed. “I wish I knew.”

 

Just then, there was a far-off commotion, and Darim came up to speak with his father.

 

“A vanguard of Mongols have broken through our defenses,” the younger Assassin reported, his composure holding admirably in the face of everything occurring at present. “The town is being overrun.”

 

“We had better move swiftly, then,” the Master said, nodding to his son before he turned his gaze back to Niccolò and his brother. “Come; I’ll escort you through the worst of the fighting. Darim, you and Adel coordinate the defense of the town; ensure all of the citizens are able to escape safely.”

 

“Of course, father,” Darim said, nodding sharply before his long stride took him out of the courtyard.

 

“Once you reach the valley, follow its course until you find a small village,” the Master said, as the three of them began making their way out through the gates of Masyaf and into the crowds of battling Assassins and Mongols. “Your horses and provisions are waiting for you there.”

 

“Thank you, Master,” he said, even as Altaïr brandished the Apple and bore it aloft.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

He could feel each pulse of the Apple’s power as though it were ripped free from his own body, but he bore up under it for the sake of the future that Niccolò, Maffeo, and the new Assassins that he’d not yet met would build. He could be glad, at least, for the fact that he’d managed to persuade Niccolò to take Alnesr to Constantinople; glad that his first son would no longer be in danger from his father’s reckless, foolish use of the Apple.

 

He’d long since conceded that particular argument to Maria; such was why he had entrusted her with keeping watch over the other codex he had written.

 

“Master, are you well?” Niccolò asked.

 

“Just let me rest, for a moment,” he said, allowing himself a soft, rueful chuckle. “These old bones don’t move as well as they used to.” The pair of them settled themselves down on either side of him; Niccolò wordlessly offering support, and Maffeo looking around for any enemies that may have remained. “When I was young, I was foolish enough to believe that our Creed would bring an end to all of these conflicts,” he mused aloud, wishing for a moment that he could have spoken such words to Alnesr without endangering the both of them. “If only I had possessed the humility to say to myself ‘I have seen enough for one life; I have done my part’,” he smiled softly, looking into the past for a long moment; all of the many things that might have changed if he had simply altered his own actions. “Then again, there is no greater glory than fighting to find the truth.”

 

Levering himself back to his feet, knowing that he would rest the whole afternoon if he allowed his discipline to become slack, Altaïr took back his position at the head of the formation that Niccolò and Maffeo had fallen into. There were no more attacking Mongols in this area, a fact for which Altaïr found himself rather pleased, since he was no longer certain he could manage the artifact properly given how weary he felt after so much exertion.

 

“This is where we part ways,” he said, once the small town he had passed through many times on his way to and from Masyaf when he had been a much younger man. “The citizens will see to your care and keeping.”

 

“Thank you, Master,” Niccolò said, nodding solemnly as a group of citizens began making their way down the path. “Take care of yourself.”

 

“I’ll consider it,” he said, smiling gently at the Polo brothers as the three of them parted company for what he was almost certain would be for the last time.

 

Allowing himself a last look at the fortress that had seen so many beginnings and endings for him, Altaïr took a breath, gathered himself, and turned his back upon the past. The future was waiting for him; time he went to meet it.


	135. Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad

When she received news that the last of the citizens was safe – the final group of Assassins having escaped under the cover of darkness – Maria allowed herself a moment to be glad of their success, before turning her thoughts back to her own journey. A night’s stay in the small village fortified her, as well as giving her time to plot out her next destination. As much as she wished to, Maria knew that following her husband to wherever it was that he intended to go was out of the question.

 

She would have to consider her actions carefully.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

He’d taken what rest he could in the towns and villages while he waited for the Mongol forces to either finish with their work or be drawn off, and now he was making his way back to the fortress at the last. He was weary; weary of the long years of his life, weary of the work he’d done… He almost welcomed the end he was slowly striding towards.

 

He knew that Maria and Alnesr would not have approved in the slightest of his current plans, and it was for that reason – among many others – that Altaïr could not entirely find it in himself to regret his decision to send the pair of them away.

 

As he came within sight of Masyaf again, Altaïr smiled softly as he saw that the fortress still stood proudly for all the damage that the siege had laid upon it. The fighting seemed to have died down, or at least moved on from the grounds of the fortress, but he still took the time to search out those who might have lingered, nursing injuries or exhaustion. Once he’d made a complete circuit of the fortress, verifying for himself that none of his brother or sister Assassins lingered within its walls, Altaïr made his way to the library that he had commissioned.

 

It was a fond sort of weariness that settled over him when he found it, and Altaïr smiled softly when he found Darim catching up to him.

 

“You and yours have seen to my books?” he asked, having glimpsed Darim and Adel conferring in brief, before the younger Assassin had departed.

 

“Yes,” his son said. “Those we didn’t send with the Polos, I myself will take to Alexandria.”

 

“Good,” he said, nodding. “Very good.”

 

“Father, I do not understand,” Darim said candidly. “Why did you build a library, if you do not intend to keep your books?”

 

“You should take Adel and go,” he said; he’d no more wish to burden Darim with his choices than he’d had to burden Alnesr. “When the Mongols return, Masyaf must be empty.”

 

“I see,” Darim said, the expression on his face becoming both stern and troubled. “This is not a library; it is a vault.”

 

“It _must_ stay hidden, Darim,” he said, knowing that there was no way to truly refute his son’s argument; he would not lie to one of his own. “Far from eager hands. At least until it has passed on the secrets it contains.”

 

“Your man in black?”

 

“Not only him,” he said; he shook his head. “Go, son. Be with your family; and you and Alnesr live well.”

 

Darim sighed softly, before stepping forward to embrace him. “All that is good in me began with you, father. I am certain that Alnesr would say the same, that he could be here to say it to you in person.”

 

“Would that he could,” he said, closing his eyes at the memory of his eldest son.

 

The two of them held fast to one another for a long moment, but finally Altaïr forced himself to let go, triggering the door to slide closed and lock behind him. Only the five keys would be able to able to open it; the five he had sent off into the world with Niccolò Polo and his brother. Making his weary way down the stairs and across the length of the library, Altaïr headed steadily for the section of recessed wall whose very design he had extracted from the Apple itself.

 

It would have been an amusing jest, had the situation itself not been so grave: that he would hide the Apple in a storage-space that had been created by that selfsame artifact.

 

The Apple glowed softly atop its pedestal, and the pressure of his right hand upon a stone panel brought the hidden doors of what he’d thought of – in his more whimsical moments – as a storage cabinet rolling closed. Sighing softly, knowing that his life’s work was at an end, and beyond that knowing that he himself was not long for the world, Altaïr turned away from the wall that now hid the Apple. Pausing for only a moment to regain his lost breath, Altaïr began making his way to the chair he had set up for himself to sit in, back during the time when he’d been preparing this library for its ultimate purpose.

 

His journey, though he walked at a pace as slow as he ever had, seemed more arduous than any journey he had ever made before. When he finally made it to the chair at the center of his library, his old heart was hammering as though he’d just run the length of Masyaf and then scaled one of its walls. Closing his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself, Altaïr found that he had no true motivation to open them again.

 

He’d lived so long, done so much, lost so many things and gained so many more… truly, he doubted that anyone who knew his circumstances could have blamed him, in the end, for resting where he was. It was not the ultimate end; the last of his works had been to ensure that the Brotherhood as a whole would survive without him, and Altaïr knew, even above that, that he could trust his wife and two remaining sons with the work that remained.

 

He still wondered about those who had made the Apple; about the man in black, and whether he was one of their number, or if he had somehow found a way to implant his mind within it without being such. He wondered about the means the man in black had employed, in either case, and he wondered what kind of people those who had made the Apple – those who “came before” – had been, if they had truly produced such a one as the man in black.

 

For a moment, just as his consciousness deserted him for what Altaïr knew would be the final time, he almost thought he could feel another’s arms, both of them embracing his left…


	136. Homeless hearts

The others – his brother and sister Assassins of Constantinople; which was still an odd thought, whenever he allowed his mind to linger on it overly long – had informed him that he’d been sleeping for several hours, unable to be roused no matter what any of them had attempted. Alnesr, while shaken – no matter that the matter was several weeks past at present, it was still time that he had missed – had maintained his composure and thanked them for their consideration. He also did not speak of the fact that the shrouded figure on the edges of his vision had resolved into full coherence, and would at times wander fully into his field of view; it felt, at times, as though he were being mocked.

 

The voice had fallen silent, yes, but that was cold comfort when he still found himself plagued by the visions that seemed to be actively attempting to drive him to distraction at all hours.

 

The only thing for it had seemed to be continuing with his old ways: working himself to exhaustion with what tasks a man his age could still manage. He learned several differing languages over the days, weeks, and months that passed within the new stronghold that his brother and sister Assassins had established within the city, and translated what scholarly works made their way across his desk. He also integrated himself with the branch of the Brotherhood that had been rooted in the city.

 

Coming to know his brother and sister Assassins helped to ground him in what was real and what was not; all the more helpful when dealing with the strange, shrouded figure who seemed to be alternately stalking and taunting him.

 

This day, however, seemed to be different, if the excitement that seemed to permeate the very air within their den was any indication.

 

“Mentor, two men from Italy are here asking for you!”

 

It was still a trifle strange to Alnesr, being called Mentor after he had spent so much time calling Altaïr by that same title, but he liked to think he bore up under it well. If nothing else, he hadn’t let any of his brother or sister Assassins in the branch of the Brotherhood he had helped to nurture within Constantinople about the unease he still felt at times. Following at a leisurely pace – the best he could manage, at his age – as Aydin Tazim hurried down the halls and corridors of their den.

 

Sometimes, it was all Alnesr could do to believe that he himself had ever been so young.

 

“Mentor.”

 

“Niccolò Polo?” he blinked, then smiled softly. “It’s rather a pleasant thing, seeing someone else so familiar,” he said, nodding to the man that had first brought him to this city, all those years ago. “Come, we’ll speak over our midday meal,” he said, taking note of the tenseness of the Italian’s stance and wondering at the cause of it.

 

Still, he’d like as not have the time needed to seek for the answer to that after they had eaten together.

 

Making his way steadily to the main eating area of their expanding den – there were almost enough of his brother and sister Assassins to establish a new one, though Alnesr wondered at times if he would be alive to see such a thing – Alnesr smiled as he returned the greetings of those Assassins that passed him by. Once their small group had settled down at the tables, he noted that the tension present in the Italian Assassin’s frame had not lessened in the slightest. Clearly, the man thought that – whatever the nature of his mistake – Alnesr would not forgive him for it.

 

“What troubles you, Niccolò?” he asked, once their meal had been finished and cleared away.

 

“Mentor,” the Italian Assassin said, his face contorting in remorse. “I grieve to have to admit to this, but my brother and I were waylaid by the Mongols on our way out of the valley. I lost the codex merely two days after we had escaped from Masyaf, to a raiding party of their number,” Niccolò paused a moment, making a visible effort to gather his composure once more. “I promise you, however, that I _will_ see Altaïr’s codex returned to us. Even if I must delay my return home to my wife and son by more than the two years I intend to spend here.”

 

“Thank you for your consideration, Niccolò,” he said. “I, too, grieve the loss of my mentor’s work. Still, I do hope your search will not take you away from your home and family for too long a time. The bonds between people are, after all, one of the things that our Brotherhood fights to protect.”

 

“I know, Mentor. Thank you for your forbearance,” Niccolò said, a small smile stretching his lips. “I will also be establishing a trading post somewhere within the city, and also hiding the keys to Masyaf’s library.”

 

“You intend to hide them?” he asked, sipping from his drink before gently setting it down again.

 

“Your mentor informed us that we were to guard the keys, or to hide them,” Niccolò said, taking a sip of his own drink. “And, considering the fate of Altaïr’s codex…”

 

“I see,” he said, as Niccolò’s words trailed into silence. “Thank you for letting me know, Niccolò.”

 

Truly, he supposed that it was the best course of action available to the Polos; there was little chance that the Mongols would give up their pursuit of his mentor’s work, if only they could see a small part of the Brotherhood destroyed. He knew at least _that_ much, given how many times he and his had been forced to drive off raiding parties back during the days of Masyaf’s strength.

 

The pair of them talked for a few more minutes, before Niccolò excused himself. Alnesr thanked him, not only for his delivery of the news regarding Altaïr’s codex, but also for his handling of the keys that his mentor had asked the man to see to the care of. He was tempted, if only for a moment, to ask just where it was that Niccolò intended to hide the keys, but he quickly banished the thought from his mind.

 

He’d no need to know such things, and even though he had little need of making forays into the city at this late stage, Alnesr would not compromise the security of the keys for his own idle curiosity.

 

_~AC: TSC~_

 

She’d been traveling east for a handful of years at this point, and Maria was swiftly becoming aware that she would not be able to handle the rigors of long-distance travel for even one more. Here, then, was where she would have to give the secondary codex that her stubborn goat of a husband had compiled from the few odd, imprecise-sounding visions that the Apple had granted to him. The codex that spoke of the man in black, those who had been “marked” by him, and those others that Altaïr had spoke of.

 

Altaïr had said that the information detailed within this codex would likely prove too much a temptation to those who had made contact with the Apple itself, as the man in black could have spoken to them in the same way he had made contact with her and Altaïr.

 

She and her husband had agreed that it would be best if she did not travel alone; with her strength and stamina, though not her skill, withered by the passage of time, she was better served having those around her who would be able to fight on her behalf if and when she found herself faced with a situation that would have otherwise required her to enter into combat. She was glad of the protection, but there _were_ times when she wished that she could have spent her remaining years with her husband. The pair of them could have found another way to resolve their strange situation.

 

Still, it was a known fact that her husband, for all his noble qualities, was a stubborn old goat of a man.

 

She and the six Assassins that Altaïr had asked to see to her care and protection had been on the many roads that stood between them and whatever safe haven that they would manage to find. _Or, perhaps we will_ not _manage to find anywhere safe, and will simply have to continue traveling for the rest of time._ It was the same pessimistic line of thought that had been becoming ever more frequent as she and her small group continued on their journey. She and hers had heard talk of more artifacts, some in the same vein as the Apple her husband had personally sworn he would do everything in his power to conceal, and as neither of them had known if there were others of the same nature as the man in black, both of them had agreed that they would be better served not seeking out any of those other artifacts.

 

It was possible, though neither of them had known if such an outlandish-sounding thing was probable, that the man in black could project his likeness through any one of them; both she and Altaïr agreed that it was simply more sensible to stay away from the artifacts, under the circumstances.

 

Still, now that she and hers had found themselves taking a rest in this small settlement – it could hardly even be called a village, considering how small it was – Maria couldn’t help the knowledge that this tiny place, on the far edges of one of China’s great cities, was going to be her final resting place. She and her small group had been traveling between large and small cities for just over four years by now; the large ones had the advantage of large crowds that she and her fellow Assassins could lose themselves in, and the small ones had the advantage of easily being passed over by the Mongol raiding parties.

 

Still, knowing that she was going to die in this small settlement whose name she couldn’t even remember was not a thought that she relished in the slightest.

 

However, she’d taken time out of her remaining days to inform her fellow Assassins – even those who had joined their group from the surrounding cities she and hers had passed through on their way up through China – about the fact that, wherever else they chanced to go, in their efforts to spread the Creed and to guard the knowledge that had been imparted to them, she would no longer be able to accompany them. And, while it was clear that all of them would miss her when she died, it was also plain to see that they would be capable of carrying on their duties even without her presence.

 

In a way she was glad of it, to know that the task she had been entrusted with would be carried out even in her absence, but there was still a small part of her that almost wished that the opposite could have been true; Maria did her best to ignore that part.


	137. Slowing down

The black-shrouded figure had only grown clearer and more defined – and, if he were the kind to give motives to what he hoped to be merely a dream image that had somehow manifested itself during his waking hours, he would have said it had grown more brazen – as his strength slowly ebbed. He’d taken to spending more and more time in his study; more time asking for the books that this branch of the Brotherhood had gathered over the course of their existence, searching for any mentions of the shrouded figure. Even after so long, however, he’d not managed to find anything.

 

It was not a situation he enjoyed, particularly since every day the shrouded figure – the broad shoulders and narrow hips suggested masculinity, loath though he was to give the shrouded figure a more concrete reality – seemed to grow clearer and more defined. Truly, if he were a more superstitious type, Alnesr would have almost said that the shrouded figure was leeching away his strength, but such a suggestion would have been absurd. No, Alnesr was perfectly aware that his life was simply at its natural end.

 

The knowledge that he had lived as full a life as anyone could ask was something of a comfort, at least; though, if only for his own peace of mind, Alnesr wished to know as much as he could about the shrouded figure that had invaded what remained of his life for these last few years.

 

Still, it was beginning to seem as though his search would prove fruitless in the end. Even with so little time left to him, however, Alnesr was also determined to ensure that the branch of the Brotherhood he had helped to take root in Constantinople would prosper and thrive even in the absence of contact with what other branches might have been formed in the interim. The sporadic visits from Niccolò Polo served to bring him news of the Italian branch, and he was pleased to know that the spread of the Creed was proceeding apace.

 

It served to comfort him, during those times when he would find the shrouded figure seemingly standing over him, reaching out its right hand as though to caress his face.

 

Setting his desk back to rights, Alnesr laboriously rose from his seat, took up the cane he’d been given by Aydin Tazim a year ago when the last of his strength had begun to decline in earnest, and began making his way back to the room that had been gifted to him when he’d first taken up residence in Constantinople. Stifling a yawn as he made his way down the stairs, Alnesr leaned against the wall, briefly closing his eyes to gather himself for the rest of his journey.

 

 _The shrouded figure moved in closely, right hand_ \- Alnesr snapped back to full awareness, blinking harshly and shaking his head as he came back to himself. Scrubbing his face with his right hand, he made his way determinedly back to his room. Sleep was not as sure a method for escaping the shrouded figure as he had once hoped it would be, but his increasing lethargy and weakness was making the necessity for such a thing far more frequent than it had been even a mere year ago. It was for that reason that Alnesr suspected that he was to die in his sleep, and also that such a thing would happen soon.

 

It was not a thought he relished, though he’d learned to accept such a thing all the same.

 

Once he had finally found his way back to his personal chambers, Alnesr went about preparing himself for sleep once more. It was a process that he had repeated many times in many places, and yet… There was a certain sense of finality to this day. Closing his eyes briefly, now garbed in only his sleeping clothes, Alnesr sighed deeply. He’d known that his life was at an end, but he’d not expected that such an end would be coming so very soon.

 

Opening his eyes, Alnesr set aside the cane then climbed into his bed; he’d no expectation of rising again…

 


	138. Homing Instinct

_“Alnesr. Alnesr, come.”_

_Opening his eyes, Alnesr saw the gently smiling form of Altaïr looking down at him._

_“Did you forget?” his teacher asked, smiling more widely down at him. “The Master has given us permission to access the hidden library! Come; you can hardly stay in bed with_ that _waiting for you, yes?”_

_“Thank you for waking me, Altaïr,” he said, rising from his bed so that he would be able to prepare for his day._

_Taking his teacher’s hand as the pair of them made their way out of his room and down through the halls and corridors of Masyaf, Alnesr’s thoughts turned once more to his impending assignment. Master Mualim had said that his time as a Novice was at its natural end the last time the pair of them had spoken in earnest, and thus he was to be assigned to a full Assassin to further hone his skills. He could not help but wonder just who it was that he would end up assigned to, and whether they would permit him to maintain such close contact with Altaïr as he currently did._

_Truly, Altaïr was the closest thing he had to a father, but Alnesr was well aware that the Brotherhood did not hold such familiar bonds in high regard._

_Putting those thoughts aside once more, Alnesr determinedly followed Altaïr down to the main floor and out of Masyaf fortress entirely. Looking up to the sky as a blast of heated air buffeted him, Alnesr thought for a moment that he’d caught sight of master Mualim’s distinctive black-robed form, but it turned out to be nothing more than a trick of the light and the wind in a tree. Shaking his head at the foolishness of his wandering thoughts, Alnesr determinedly followed Altaïr to the back of the fortress…_

_Sighing as he looked up into the endless blue sky that the proud fortress of Masyaf stood under, Alnesr found his thoughts turning back to just who he might be apprenticed to when his time came to take his place._

_“What troubles you, Alnesr?”_

_“The Master says that I am to begin my Apprenticeship soon,” he said, knowing that he could trust Altaïr, of all people, with what was in his heart. “I… I simply don’t know if I will ever be able to form a bond with anyone else akin to the one the two of us share. Most of the others- the way they look at me…”_

_He could find no more words to express himself, though he knew that Altaïr would understand what he sought to express in spite of that._

_“I will speak to the Master on your behalf,” his teacher said, as he led the pair of them to the shade of a wide, broad-leafed tree. “I am certain that he would not give you over to someone who would abuse your skill or your trust.”_

_“Thank you, Altaïr,” he said, wishing for a moment that he could have said father, before he sternly reminded himself that such was not the way of the Brotherhood, and that he was an Assassin above all other things._

_Settling himself down against the trunk of the tree Altaïr had guided them to, Alnesr sighed softly as he wrapped both of his arms around Altaïr’s. He knew that his teacher would never allow such worries as he had to become anything more than the phantoms of his at-times overworried mind, and yet he’d not found any real way to stave off such things._ Strange, _he mused, watching as the sky overhead seemed to shift, peeling away to reveal…_


	139. Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr

The darkened interior of a room he had never glimpsed before in his life, and the shrouded figure that had been haunting his dreams – to say nothing of his waking hours – for so long that Alnesr had forgotten what it was to have a peaceful day. His heart pounded, leaving him feeling as though he’d run twice the length of his den’s training grounds, and he barely had time to notice that his arms seemed to be wrapped around something thin and hard, before he saw the flash of a pair of bright eyes…

 

“You did well to come this far,” the soft, amused-sounding voice of the shrouded figure who had appeared before him – clear even in the dimness of the room he was sitting in – the strange light in his eyes almost seeming to reach out and envelop him. “Now, _surrender your Heart to me!_ ”

 

Finding himself nearly choking on the very air itself, as the shrouded figure plunged its black-gloved hands into his chest, Alnesr found himself staring into a pair of bright, yellow eyes that resembled his own. Before he could wonder about such a thing, Alnesr almost literally felt his mind detaching from his body…

 

 _…the world around him was bathed in radiant, shimmering light, and as he drifted in a state that felt like drifting between dreams and waking, Alnesr glimpsed the_ face _of the shrouded figure that had been following him for so long… the face belonged to a man, as he had been given to suspect, considering the few parts of his figure that had been revealed by his odd robes… he saw the man’s mouth moving as though he was speaking, but no sound came through to him where he was…_

_…an ominous, smothering darkness wrapped around him, suffocating him as it seemed to cling to his eyes and mouth…_

_…Alnesr felt himself being compressed and compressed…_

_“Flowing darkness and light mix, becoming hunting shadows that stalk wicked light…” he heard a soft, avaricious chuckle. “How interesting.”_

_…his mind seemed to be separating, standing as both Alnesr the Apprentice and Alnesr the Mentor… he could barely remember where he had once been staying…_

_…Master Altaïr? …where are you? …where am_ I _? …_


	140. Visions in Silver and Gold

Drawing himself back to his own Body, to the Heart that he had formed from the scraps of Memories; the Light and Darkness that he could gather to himself on this separated World, he smiled as he beheld the bound Heart that he had taken from its own dying Body.

 

“So, this day sees our situations reversed, Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr,” he mused aloud, making his way out of the empty room, away from the two empty Bodies behind him.

 

The defenses that had been set up around the artifact – the Apple, as Juno had called it – that he had made use of for so long meant little to him, and as he stepped through a Corridor to set himself within the small room that housed that particular Apple, he smiled as he brushed his fingers across it. Imprinting a shadow of Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr’s mind within the artifact, there to wait and watch for anyone else who might find it, he turned and left.

 

Passing through the Corridors, he found his way back to the land that he had cleared in preparation for his future plans. He’d not yet decided upon a name for the small structure that he had built up over the many decades – or perhaps centuries; time meant little enough to a being of Nothingness, and even less now that he had perfected his hold upon those fascinating devices – that he had been operating within and around the environs of this separated World, but such a consideration was for later. When he began _properly_ gathering his forces for the plan that he had put into play once he had managed to find his feet after his abortive battle with Juno.

 

The tall, sinuous forms of the pair he had taken with him to this strange World, dominating what little will they had possessed when they had first come into his possession; a time that was so long ago in his memories, and yet one that had likely not yet occurred. Their four empty eye-sockets tracked him as he made his way into the small room that he had managed to pull together from the remains of what few Worlds had fallen into Darkness within easy reach of one of his Corridors, and the pair of them moved smoothly to follow him inside. He’d yet to decide on a name for this place that he had slowly constructed, but such a thing could be safely ignored so long as he was the sole conscious inhabitant.

 

Cradling the Heart between his hands, he made his way to the center of the small room he had set up for his personal use. There, atop a pedestal not so much different than the one he had seen in that strange, abandoned library where he had left Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr’s empty Body, was the Apple that Juno had given over to him once he had shown how adept he was at manipulating it. The Apple that she, of course, had no remaining memories of.

 

Opening his hands, he reached out to touch the Apple, binding Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr’s freed Heart within the maze of its empty light. His work was not yet complete, however; there had been two, rather than one, that had drawn his attention when the time came. He would have to sift through those Hearts he had marked as his own to find the other that he had been passingly aware of when he had followed them out of Vexen’s laboratory in Castle Oblivion.

 

 _Kronos indeed,_ Xemnas scoffed, as he used the Apple to lull Alnesr Ibn La’Altaïr’s Heart into Sleep so that it would remain where it was. Above all considerations at present, what he needed most was time. There were a great many people on the separated World that he had been led to, and while not many of them were the hunting Shadows that called themselves Assassins, they had scattered to a great many places in response to the attacks by that other group of humans who also carried Darkness in their Hearts.

 

This plan of his would require time and patience, just as his old one had; still, the results looked to be _very_ promising…


	141. Fallen doves

Looking back down the darkened alleyway he had concealed himself in, Luccio tried to hush his breathing. Those who had taken him were certain to drag him back to the warehouse if they were allowed to know that he was here. He had managed to escape through an open space that had not quite been fully boarded up, and while he hoped that at least _some_ of the others had managed to escape in the same way before the men wearing the red crosses found out about it, Luccio wasn’t about to turn back.

 

He wanted nothing to do with the cross-bearing men; nothing to do with the dark room where those like him were dragged, where they screamed once and were never heard from again.

 

He’d found a scrap of black cloth to cover his silver hair, but the yellow eyes that marked him as one of those who the crossed-men would be most interested in were a great deal more difficult without blinding himself. He could not see any sign that the crossed-men had sent some of their own to find him, and so Luccio cautiously made his way out of the darkened alleyway. It was dark enough to keep the people that the crossed-men spoke of – those who would bind him with ropes and cast him into the sea if they chanced to glimpse his true appearance – inside the buildings where they stayed, and so Luccio allowed himself to breathe without whimpering.

 

Looking around, holding his body close to the ground so that no one who might be awake at such a dark hour would be able to see him through the clear panes inset into their walls, Luccio panted as his eyes darted from shadow to shadow. He’d not seen any of the crossed-men lurking in the shadows, but everything the crossed-men had said – everything they had done – had let Luccio and his fellows know that there was little hope of escape for any of them.

 

Still, knowing what was coming as he did, Luccio found that he had to try.

 

There were so many new sounds, so different than the soft breathing of his fellows that had filled his nights and days, that Luccio hardly knew what to make of them. Even the air around him, cold rather than warmed and laden with the scents of his fellows, was strange and new to him. Truly, he did not know whether to be more frightened of the blackened room, or of this new, cold, empty place where he found himself.

 

Throwing himself back as something tall and shrouded in white landed merely two steps in front of him, Luccio pressed himself against one of the buildings as the white-shrouded figure raised itself up to the same height of one of the crossed-men that always seemed to tower over him from where they stood. His eyes widened as he stood, trembling, before the figure as it turned slowly to look at him.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

The soft sound of a child whimpering in distress drew his attention, and as Giovanni turned around, the first thing he noticed were the widened, frightened yellow eyes in the young face.

 

“ _Buona sera, piccina._ Are you lost?”

 

The little one seemed terrified of even the soft tone he was using, cowering against the outer wall of a run-down inn and staring up at Giovanni as though he were every nightmare come out of the darkness. He’d no concern for his enemies thinking in such a way, and he’d in fact encouraged such ways of thinking whenever and however he could, but to see such fear in the eyes of a _child_ … To say nothing of the oaths he had sworn as an Assassin, to the Creed and to himself alone, Giovanni was not the kind of man to take pleasure in terrifying a mere child.

 

“ _Calma, calma,_ ” he called gently, raising his hands so that the little one could see that he was of goodly intent. “I won’t hurt you, _piccina_.”

 

Before he could say anything else, however, Giovanni caught sight of the small cross that had been painted on the child’s right cheek. It was the same marking that had been on the cheeks of the corpses that he and his had recovered the last week and the week before it. The same, he suspected, that had once adorned the cheeks of the children whose skeletons had been pulled out of _Venezia’s_ canals over the previous month.

 

“ _Dio mio_ ,” he muttered, stepping slightly closer so that he could see more clearly.

 

Sure enough, the painted cross did _not_ in fact prove to be a trick of his imagination.

 

“Ah _piccina_ , you’ve escaped something terrible, no?” he said gently, crouching so that he no longer towered over the frightened child. “You’re very brave, but you can rest easy now. I will take you to a place far safer than this.”

 

Making soothing sounds and gestures, Giovanni managed to pick up the yellow-eyed child and spirit him out of the alley. Hurrying his steps, even as the soft whimpering of the child in his arms drove him to grind his teeth in fury at those who had so cowed the little one that he’d merely gone limp as a doll when Giovanni had lifted him off his feet, Giovanni continued on his path to Lorenzo’s palazzo. Lorenzo de’ Medici, the Auditore family’s patron and protector, had naturally been furious at the sight of so many little corpses.

 

It was one thing to deal harshly with one’s enemies, to drive them out of your city with nothing but the clothes on their backs, and even to kill those who would pose a continued threat to you and your own. But the corpses that had been recovered had – each and every one of them – belonged to children too young to pose a threat to anything but a well-tended garden, or at worst the dignity of their elders. It was not only for that reason, but for their shared bond as fathers, that the deaths of so many children had enraged Lorenzo and Giovanni both.

 

It was for that reason, that the chance he had been given this night brought such hope to Giovanni’s heart.

 

He’d not even been looking to find such a thing, the sight of furtive movement below him merely drawing his eye due to the nature of his work. Still, even with his find being due merely to the convergence of chance and his own ancestors’ chosen line of work, Giovanni was pleased to have been able to save at least _one_ of the children who would have otherwise died.

 

Once he had made his way back to Lorenzo’s palazzo, Giovanni found that the guards stopped him for merely a moment, before looking over the child in his arms and ushering him deeper inside. He’d been suspecting they would do as such; the fact that he already worked for Lorenzo aside, they had both been investigating the murders. A living witness could give them so much more than a corpse, and, even aside from such utilitarian concerns as those, it was always better to be able to _save_ an innocent life rather than merely to avenge it.

 

“Giovanni,” Lorenzo greeted.

 

“ _Il Magnifico_ ,” he returned, lowering his head as well as he could manage without disturbing the child in his arms.

 

“I’m glad to see you fare so well,” Lorenzo said, stepping in closer to him so as to take a better look at the child still in his arms; the child that was, even so, pressing himself farther into Giovanni’s body in a clear effort to escape from whatever it was that terrified him into the soft, almost mindless whimpering that Giovanni could still hear coming from him. “ _Calma, calma piccina._ No one here is going to hurt you.”

 

Supporting the child’s back, Giovanni carried him over to an offered chair and gently settled the little one in it, keeping his hands upon the boy’s shoulders so he wouldn’t bolt out of sheer, blind panic.

 

“Can you speak, _piccina_?” Lorenzo asked, his tone gentle, crouching slightly in the same way that Giovanni himself had once done when he had tried speaking to the boy.

 

The boy made what sounded like several abortive attempts at speech, but in the end could not seem to manage even a single word. It was clear, given the way his eyes flickered between the pair of them, that the boy was terrified out of his mind at the prospect of whatever it was that he thought was to be his fate. Giovanni didn’t know precisely what that would have been, since none of the tiny corpses had had any marks aside from the cross painted upon their right cheeks, so there was no way to know what they had died of, only that they were indeed dead.

 

“Please, _piccina_ , if you can say even one word, we may very well be able to find the ones who did this to you,” he said, knowing even as he spoke that it would take far more than simply a word to begin any kind of hunt for those most likely to be responsible for an atrocity on such a scale as this.

 

“You can stop the crossed-men?” the little one asked, his voice nearly too quiet to be heard over even the muffled sounds of activity that came through the drawn curtain.

 

 _Templars._ It was a struggle not to growl, but as he knew that such an action would only undo all of the progress – minor as it ultimately was – he and Lorenzo had made thus far. Still, knowing that the Templars had involved themselves in the murder of so many children – each and every one of them with the markings of a Treasure Guardian – was one of the most infuriating things that he had ever had to deal with. Knowing that he and his fellow Assassins had been too late to save so many of them was a harsh thing, but Giovanni had been forced to learn many harsh lessons over his lifetime.

 

This was merely one more in a lifetime of them.


	142. Shrouded secrets

It took a great deal of time to coax the child – he had admitted to having no name, but had apparently taken to calling himself Luccio – to tell them about the place that he and the others had come from. It sounded like there had been many of them brought in, and also as though each and every one of them had been of the same Line. Whichever of the Treasures they had been bound to, it was more than clear that the Templars were taking base advantage of such a bond; and that it was killing the Guardians in the process. He did not know precisely how a Guardian could be killed so cleanly without destroying their Treasure and ending the Line in question, but if anyone could have found a way to make such a thing possible, Giovanni knew it had to be the Templars.

 

“You say that the children where you were kept had no proper names. If it would not be too difficult for you, Luccio, could you tell us what the crossed-men called those they held?”

 

“They-” Luccio shuddered, and Giovanni gently rubbed the boy’s hands to sooth him; however, he knew even then that no small comforts would provide the kind of security the boy would need. Presently, the best thing for him would be to know that the ultimate authors of his suffering were well and truly dealt with. “They call us doves. Little doves, when they first take in the really small ones.”

 

 _Why would I be surprised that the Templars are willing to sacrifice even the youngest of children to whatever mad scheme they have dreamed up,_ Giovanni mused, tamping down on the rage slowly boiling up within him. The boy who called himself Luccio would not understand the cause of it – as he did not understand the function of a book, or the true nature of death even when he had been shown the corpses of the other children they had recovered – and so it would only serve to frighten him. _Luccio’s no proper name, in any case,_ he reflected sadly.

 

Perhaps the little one had heard the name Luciano from one of the Templars; heard through a door or some other barrier that muffled sound without blocking it, he might have thought to call himself that in order to avoid being _completely_ nameless. It was a sad thing, and no less infuriating for it, that the children who had been taken by the Templars were not even named, but such a thing was perfectly expected from those who would steal the very humanity from everyone in the world if they were given the chance.

 

“Stay here, Luccio,” Lorenzo said, gently patting the boy’s head. “Me and mine will free your fellows. Uberto Alberti, my Gonfaloniere, will see to your care and keeping. Uberto?”

 

“Of course, _Altezza_.”

 

“He won’t throw me into the sea?”

 

“No, _piccina_ ,” Lorenzo said, gently smoothing down the boy’s silver hair in an effort to soothe him.

 

It was one of the Templars’ more insidious methods of controlling the children they had kidnapped: even before they were truly old enough to understand the words, their Templar keepers would speak to them of all the terrible fates they would be prey to if they were glimpsed by those who lived outside of the warehouse where all of the children who had been captured were ultimately gathered. He’d not expected better, not from men with such goals as the Templars, but Giovanni couldn’t help the wish that one of the other children had managed to escape earlier. Or else, that his patrols had chanced to intersect with one of them at an earlier point.

 

Still, at this point, he would simply have to content himself with killing the Templars responsible while he and his rescued what children they could.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

When the men who had been kind enough _not_ to throw him into the sea – or at least to speak to him as though they wouldn’t; their eyes were warmer than the crossed-men, so Luccio wanted to trust them – had left him behind with the other man, he hadn’t quite known how to react. He _wanted_ to believe that those men-without-crosses wouldn’t leave him alone, alone to be bound with ropes and thrown into the sea, but he didn’t know this new man. Aside from the names that the men-without-crosses had given him, Luccio didn’t know any of them.

 

“Alberto?”

 

“Uberto, _piccina_ ,” the man with the round face said, smiling gently at him. “My name is Uberto Alberti.”

 

“What happened to the others? Why don’t they get up?”

 

The smile on the man’s round face slipped away, replaced with an expression that Luccio had seen many times on the faces of the men-without-crosses as they had talked to him and asked him about things. He didn’t have a name for it, but Luccio knew he didn’t enjoy it.

 

“They don’t rise because they’re dead, _piccina_ ,”  the round-faced man said, standing up and gently taking his hands; the round-faced man’s hands were warm, but Luccio didn’t like what he was saying. “Those times you spoke of? When your fellows would scream once and then fall silent? That was most likely when they died, _piccina_.”

 

“What is that?” he asked, curious but suspecting he wouldn’t enjoy the answer at all. “That was what those other men said about them. But, I don’t know what that _is_ , Uberto.”

 

The round-faced man reached out and gently set one of his large hands on top of Luccio’s head, “Would you like to see them a last time, _piccina_? To say your farewells?”

 

Reaching up to touch the round-faced man’s hand, Luccio closed his eyes. He didn’t know just what the man wanted him to say, what he wanted him to _do_ , but seeing the others just lying there on those strange, raised slabs… he didn’t like it. Not one bit. They had looked like they were sleeping, but none of them moved, not even a bit.

 

Not even the small movements of chest and eyes that he’d seen during the times when he would sit and watch the littlest ones who had just been brought back from one of the other rooms.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

It was not a thing he had wished to believe, but facing the small boy who called himself Luccio – the boy who had not known what to do with a book when it was handed to him, and who still had no concept of death even after he had been shown the corpses of his fellows – it was clear to Uberto what he needed to do: he would have to speak to Rodrigo about what had been done to all of the children that the Templars had gathered to them. Yes, it was true that the odd appearances of the ones who were called variously Treasure Guardians or Children of Eden – depending on whether you asked an Assassin or a Templar – could easily draw the wrong sort of attention to them.

 

Still, the idea of killing _actual_ children had never sat particularly well with him; surely, Rodrigo would never support such a thing, either.

 

However, for the moment the matter of Luccio was the more pressing. Uberto gently invited the boy to set next to him, taking out a book of children’s stories so that he would at least be able to do _something_ for the boy, even if it was simply to explain to him those concepts that any normal child his age – he looked as though he couldn’t have been older than ten years, and he was small and lean besides – would have already been able to understand.

 

And so, with Luccio’s small hand resting on his right leg, Uberto settled back into his chair to both read the first story within the book he held, and to prepare himself to answer any questions that the child might have had about it.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

He was beginning at least to understand _some_ of the things that the round-faced man and the men-without-crosses had said to him; mostly about what the man had meant when he told Luccio that all of the others that had been brought back to this place were dead. Dead meant their bodies would never be able to speak or move again, and that their souls – the round-faced man had tried to explain what those were, but even after listening to everything he’d said, Luccio wasn’t sure that he understood any better than before – had gone to a place called Heaven. The round-faced man had told him that they would all be happy there, and so Luccio tried to be happy for them.

 

He couldn’t seem to make himself stop thinking about them, though.

 

Sighing as he returned his attention to the large shapes with all of the straight lines and curved lines that the round-faced man had told him were something called letters, Luccio settled back down. He hadn’t known what the round-faced man had wanted him to do with them at first, but when the man had said that those were what had been in that thing he called a book, and that they were for something called reading, Luccio had found himself curious about just what else they were for.

 

The round-faced man had told him that there was more to letters than just reading them, and that once he could do something called _write_ , he could actually make something that other people could read if they were given it. It was another thing that Luccio found himself wondering about, but when he’d asked the round-faced man what writing was, the man had just told him to watch the other men-without-crosses all around him. He said that the ones with feathers – the ones sitting in front of those light-colored things atop the small slabs – were all writing.

 

He’d asked what feathers were, and the round-faced man had tried to explain, but it had involved something else called birds, and Luccio had quickly found himself losing track of what he was saying.

 

Sighing as he turned his attention back to the strange “letters” that the round-faced man had given him to study, Luccio caught himself wondering what would become of him. The men-without-crosses had all said that they would _not_ cast him into the sea, bound in ropes so that he would fall to the bottom, and they seemed to be kinder than the crossed-men. The one in white also seemed to hate the crossed-men, and Luccio wondered for a moment if he would ever find out the reason for such a thing.

 

Picking up the “chalk” that the round-faced man had handed to him, Luccio took one of the “slates” and began to copy the first of them onto it.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Watching Luccio as the boy struggled to make sense of even the most basic of letters, Uberto found his resolve to confront Rodrigo about what had been done to all of those captured children that some faction of Templars had gathered and held under their control growing all the stronger. He hoped that he would not be forced to break his ties with them, as he still had his quarrels with the Medici and did not at all wish to abandon the protection that he had been granted as even a mere informant for the Order. Yet, to abuse and to murder children that had never done him and his the slightest wrong… _no_ ; he could never support such a thing.

 

Nor could he stand idly by now that he knew such a thing had been occurring, not and still call himself a man.


	143. The Eagle’s fledgling

Standing beside the remains of the warehouse that had once housed the young Guardians that the Templars had captured to use in their mad ploy to give life to one of their own who should have been long dead – lives that had been stolen from every one of the Guardians that had passed their tenth year; the child calling himself Luccio had escaped at just the right time, it seemed – Giovanni held onto the baby that he had taken from the open floor of the warehouse just before he and his fellow Assassins had set fire to that terrible place.

 

“It seems as though the Templars were using some kind of artifact they called the Shroud to steal the lives of those Guardians connected to it,” Mario said, stepping up beside him as the pair of them began at last to make their way away from the killing ground that they and theirs had left behind.

 

“One wonders how they were able to find so many of them,” Giovanni mused aloud, looking back down at the slumbering infant in his arms; he’d long since scrubbed the painted cross from the little girl’s right cheek, just as he’d done with the boy calling himself Luccio.

 

“As much as I hate the thought, some of their own parents might have been convinced to give them away, or else sold them.”

 

Giovanni ground his teeth at the reminder; yes, the physical appearance of the Treasure Guardians could come as quite the shock to those who were not prepared to see such a thing, and he himself – even with the knowledge that the Brotherhood had been granted by Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad’s Guardian Codex – had been rather startled to see men and women with silver hair and yellow eyes in anything but the illustrations that he had seen in the codex. Still, even surprise or startlement was no reason to abandon a member of your own family

 

Particularly not to the Templars.

 

“Are you going to take that little one home with you?” Mario asked, smiling as he looked down at the infant in Giovanni’s arms.

 

“Yes,” he said, smiling gently as he looked down at the infant girl, all bundled up as she was.

 

She was such a tiny thing; she’d been helpless within the warehouse, abandoned in a crib alongside all of the other infants that the Templars had taken from where they had previously lived. Either with their families, or if they had been abandoned by those people, on the streets. Remembering that there were Treasure Guardians who had been forced from their homes, driven away by the people who lived there – people who should have loved them, as they _were_ , in the end, their own – Giovanni spared a moment to hope that the Brotherhood would be able to find _them_ , as well.

 

“Well, you’ll certainly be able to offer the little one a better life than these _cani bastardi_ ,” Mario spat, glaring at the still-smoldering wreck of the warehouse where Luccio and his fellows had been held while they awaited their turns to be murdered.

 

“Yes,” he said, standing back up as he and Mario began to make their way away from the gutted ruin of the warehouse.

 

It would take some time for him to return to the _palazzo_ Auditore, but during that time – which would inevitably be longer than usual, as he could not truly hope to take his usual path home with such a small child in his arms – Giovanni would be able to think of just how he was to convince the rest of his family to take this little one into not only their home, but their hearts, as well. Still, it was likely that he would merely need to explain the circumstances he had found her facing.

 

Truly, his own were some of the greatest hearts in Firenze; though he’d admit to perhaps a bit of bias on his part.

 

Smiling as he came back into sight of his well-appointed _palazzo_ , Giovanni ducked neatly into the concealed entrance he had used to depart this night – and many nights and mornings before – upon the business of the Brotherhood and _Il Magnifico_ both. Once he had sealed the entrance behind him and was safely deep enough within the tunnel that he could both move and speak more freely, Giovanni turned his attention back to the little girl whose life he and his had redeemed this night.

 

“I hope you do manage to find a home here, _bambina_ ,” he cooed softly, continuing on his way down the tunnel to the concealed entrance behind his office’s large fireplace. “My family is very kind, and we have much to offer, so while I _am_ reasonably certain that they will welcome you into their hearts, I would prefer to speak to them more personally about such a matter.”

 

He spoke aloud strictly for his own benefit, knowing that the infant in his arms could no more understand his words than the pair of them could converse with each other. Still, speaking aloud helped Giovanni to organize his own thoughts, and so he would do so when he felt safe enough to do so without revealing more of his secrets than he could afford.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

As she anxiously awaited the return of her dear husband, Maria Auditore wondered just what could have kept him away from their home for so long. Giovanni was a devoted family man, as every good Italian was, but he also had his duties to the Assassin Brotherhood, and there were times when those two allegiances would inevitably come into conflict with one another. Though she sometimes wished that such was not the case, she knew better than most what danger the Templars posed to the world.

 

She knew better than most what would happen if the Assassin Brotherhood were not present to oppose them.

 

And so she waited, praying every time that the Brotherhood’s business called Giovanni away from their _palazzo_ that her husband’s skill and strength would be enough to see him returned to their family once more. This day was no different, though as time continued to wear on, Maria found herself becoming ever more unsettled about where her husband was, and just what kind of danger he might be facing.

 

The familiar, muffled scraping of stone that heralded the opening of the concealed passage into their _palazzo_ drew her attention then, and Maria allowed herself to relax slightly. Of course, she had no true way of knowing just what condition her husband was in, but simply knowing that he was home did a great deal to settle her nerves. After waiting for a few, long moments to allow Giovanni to close the hidden passage once more – hiding it from the view of those who might bring harm to their family through the knowledge of it, even if only inadvertently – Maria made her way to her husband’s spacious office.

 

What she found there was rather surprising; her husband had indeed returned to her, but the small bundle in his arms appeared both strange and familiar at once.

 

“Giovanni, what have you been about?” she asked, moving to stand beside him so she could get a better look at the small bundle in his arms.

 

As she had come to suspect, it was indeed an infant; one who seemed to be no older than their own Petruccio.

 

“I found this little one being held captive by a cell of Templars who had been operating out of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of _Firenze_ ,” her husband said, holding out the infant so that she could get a closer look at the little one.

 

“Those _eyes_ ,” she gasped, as the little one opened bright, pale yellow eyes – the color of new gold, and so even more strange to see in a living person’s face – and peered up at her with the guileless innocence that all children possessed. “Does this have something to do with the Brotherhood?”

 

“In a sense, yes,” her husband said, looking down at the child in his arms with what seemed to be both sadness and hope in equal measures. “This girl is one of those who our Brotherhood calls Treasure Guardians.”

 

Settling herself down in a nearby chair and waiting for her husband to do the same, Maria listened as Giovanni told her the tale of the Treasure Guardians; how they had presumably come into being, how it had been Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad that had brought them into the ranks of the Brotherhood, and how the Templars had come to find out about them, some time later. It seemed that, in addition to their odd appearances, each of the Guardians bore a connection to one of the ancient artifacts that both the Brotherhood and the Templars were so interested in.

 

It was no surprise, then, that the Templars would attempt to gather up as many as they could lay their hands to; Giovanni and their fellow Assassins had spoken quite extensively – and on many occasions – of the Templars and their cravings for power and control.

 

“Considering all of that, Maria, I think it would be best if this girl is given a home with us,” her husband said, his kind eyes shifting from his examination of the infant in his arms up to rest on her own face. “Federico and Ezio will enjoy having another little sister, I think.”

 

“Yes,” she said, humming gently as she gently caressed the infant’s tiny face. “Claudia will enjoy it, too, I’ve little doubt. And she _is_ about Petruccio’s age.” The soft smile on her face melted away, as Maria reflected again on the circumstances that had brought such a small child into their home all unlooked-for. “I cannot help but wonder just what happened to land her in such a terrible place.”

 

“Like as not, the Templars took her after they had killed what family she might have had,” Giovanni said.

 

“Yes,” she muttered softly.

 

Neither of them wished to mention the other, horrible possibility that this lost little one’s existence presented, and Maria simply wished not to think about it for any longer than she absolutely had to. Just long enough, in fact, to push the thoughts from her mind.

 

“She will need a proper name, if she’s to be a member of our family,” her husband said, and in that moment Maria realized that – in spite of everything that had happened and what might happen in the future – she herself was starting to think of how they _would_ bring this tiny child into their family, rather than if they _should_.

 

“Do you think it would make her more safe or less if I were to give her my own name?” she asked, gently taking the infant from her husband’s arms as he passed the child into her own.

 

“Maria Auditore da Firenze,” Giovanni said, carefully pronouncing the name as he caressed the infant’s head.

 

Maria smiled. “I think it suits her, as well.”


	144. Sons and daughters

As their small family slowly grew older, Giovanni found that their little Maria did indeed grow into the name that his dear wife had gifted her with when she had first come into their lives just a bit over a decade ago. She learned just as well as any of her natural siblings, and was a good friend to Petruccio when it was determined that the sickness that had plagued him since his birth would last for the rest of his life. Perhaps the bond between them had been strengthened by the fact that she was forced to hide her bright, pale yellow eyes behind darkened glasses; pretending to be blind when one could see perfectly well could not have been an easy thing to bear.

 

Still, whatever the root of her close bond with Petruccio, Giovanni was glad of it.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

As he tugged his littlest sister along behind him, Ezio looked around for the girl that he and Federico had seen. He might not have made the best first impression in the world, but cute girls like her could always be persuaded to take a second look at someone who was kind to their littlest sister. Particularly if that littlest sister was blind and helpless.

 

And yes, little Maria was not _truly_ blind, and she was about as far from helpless as a girl her age could be, but no one _really_ needed to know that tonight.

 

“You still haven’t told me what this is all about, _fratello mio_.”

 

“Don’t be so impatient, _sorellina_ ,” he said, returning the teasing smile she had turned on him with a bit of interest; just as any good banker would, really. “I said that I needed your help, little Maria, and so I so. With something _very_ important.”

 

“Ah,” his littlest sister said, a sly expression barely concealed by the dark glasses shading her bright, pale yellow eyes. “You couldn’t manage to find a girl on your own, so you’re bringing in your little, blind sister to help you,” little Maria shook her head, giving him a disappointed expression that was so exaggerated it couldn’t have been anything but faked. “ _Dio mio,_ are you losing your touch, _mio fratello_? Whatever _will_ -”

 

Ezio slapped his right hand over her mouth, but he could practically _feel_ his littlest sister grinning at him behind it. “That’s enough out of you, _grullo tesoro_. Now, just stay close and look cute; I’ll find Christina.”

 

“Oh _ho_ ,” little Maria said, grinning at him like the troublesome little imp she truly was. “So, this Christina of yours can see through _all_ of your little lines, can she? Seems like you _do_ need my help, _fratello mio_.”

 

Tempted to pull little Maria’s hat down over her face, Ezio restrained himself with some effort. That kind of thing might have caused her wig to fall off, and even a glimpse of the silver hair hidden under it would have endangered the both of them more than he was willing to chance. Even though he didn’t know quite _who_ little Maria would be in danger from, the Auditore family had enough enemies on their own without inviting the notice of whatever kind of people would come after his littlest sister simply for looking a bit strange.

 

So, all he did was to give the little imp a well-deserved swat across her left shoulder as the pair of them continued searching. The sounds of a scuffle reached him then, wiping away what good-humor he and little Maria had managed to create for themselves with their little game. _I know that voice,_ Ezio felt his lips pulling back into a smirk that anyone who _wasn’t_ a complete imbecile would recognize meant trouble.

 

“Hey, _bastardo_!” Vieri de’ Pazzi – one of the few people Ezio knew that was enough of a swine to threaten the many, _many_ women who had likely spurned his clumsy advances – stood far too close to Christina, having clearly been leering at her, before Ezio’s right fist caught him full in the face.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Watching her notorious flirt of a brother beat some civility into Vieri’s ugly head wasn’t all _that_ interesting once the first few punches had been thrown, so Maria began to turn her gaze to catch sight of the woman he was so intent on catching the eye of, before quickly recalling the fact that she was still supposed to be playing the part of a cute, helpless little blind girl. Stopping herself before she’d begun to turn her head _too_ much, Maria instead turned just her eyes, so that she would be able to see the girl – Christina, if she’d remembered right – as the girl watched her silly brother at work.

 

It seemed that, even _without_ her having to do anything, Ezio was managing to impress.

 

The sound of her brother’s sudden shout drew Maria’s attention, but too late for her to do anything but take that bastard Vieri’s blow full in the face. Her darkened glasses were knocked flying, to clatter somewhere out of sight down the alley. All the worse was when the bastard gabbed her head, tore her wig clean off, and _grabbed the long plait of silver hair hidden under it!_

 

“I’d always _thought_ there was something odd about you, _principessa_!” the bastard snarled, and Maria’s entire world narrowed to the horrible sensation of her long plait all but being wrenched from her skull as that bastard Vieri dragged her backwards.

 

Almost slamming into the ground as the pressure on her plait suddenly let up, Maria found herself caught gently by the very girl that her silly flirt of a brother had been trying to romance in the first place. Breathing more easily for the easing of her pain, Maria found herself tensing up all over again, however, when Christina – who was one of the only people she knew who would be so gentle under these kinds of circumstances – began to turn her around, either to take a look at her or just to settle her back on her feet.

 

She couldn’t help but wonder just how Christina was going to react to her odd appearance, and just how her pending reaction would shape the relationship that Ezio wished to share with her; or else destroy it, but Maria tried not to think like that.

 

“ _Dio mio,_ yellow eyes?” the woman exclaimed, but instead of drawing back, the way Maria had been concerned she would, Christina reached out to gently touch the right side of her face. “I’ve never seen such a thing before.”

 

“Not many people have, _signorina_ ,” she said, trying not to lower her gaze from the other woman’s.

 

“I suppose I can see why, _piccola principessa_ ,” Christina said gently, smiling softly. “Still, I think they look rather pretty.”

 

“Didn’t I tell you she was wonderful, _sorellina_?” Ezio asked, chuckling as he came to stand beside the pair of them.

 

“Well, I suppose you _were_ right, _fratello mio_ ,” she said, grinning. “For once.”

 

“ _Grullo tesoro_ ,” he growled, still smiling.

 

Christina laughed, clapping her hands and grinning at the pair of them. “Well, I suppose I can’t deny a second chance to the kind of man who not only defends my virtue, but is also so kind to his little sister,” Christina  turned her smile on her. “Even when she _is_ being a wicked little imp.”

 

The three of them shared a laugh, and Ezio reached out almost shyly to take her hand. That was just like her brother: he might have talked himself up _so_ much when the pair of them were alone, but he was always so adorably shy when he actually started trying to _talk_ to one of the women he wanted to romance. It really _was_ the most adorable thing.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Hugging his sister close, Ezio smiled all the way back to the _Palazzo_ Auditore. This evening had been one of the best he’d had in a long time; he hadn’t only gotten to court Christina, but he’d gotten to punch that miserable _bastardo_ Vieri in the face until he’d ran off with his tail between his legs. Patting little Maria’s head as the pair of them slipped back into their _palazzo_ , Ezio cuddled her close and kissed both her cheeks as the pair of them parted.

 

“ _Bona sera, fratello mio_.”

 

“ _Bona sera, sorellina_ ,” he said, as the two of them hugged a last time and then parted.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Opening his eyes as little Maria crept back into his room, Petruccio quickly covered up his grin with his blankets before she could end up seeing it. It was so funny when little Maria would sneak off with big brother Ezio to go out and do all kinds of things that he wouldn’t be able to do. Stuffing a wad of blankets in his mouth to muffle his laughter, Petruccio curled up under his blankets and tried to fall back to sleep.


	145. The good life

The next day, when the sun had begun falling from the sky in earnest, Maria found herself following her brothers up the walls and over the rooftops that stood between their _palazzo_ and the Ponte Vecchio. The three of them had decided – though more Ezio and Federico, since they were the ones who knew more about this kind of thing, and had quite a few friends suited for the task, besides – that it was time they taught Vieri a _proper_ lesson for being such an arrogant prick even though everyone who _wasn’t_ trying to curry favor with his high-handed family knew he was a dickless piece of shit.

 

“We all stand together!” Ezio called out, raising his right fist to rally the friends and comrades he and Federico had gathered together to fight by their sides; Maria smiled as she heard the voices of those around them rising like a tide of support and agreement. “Do you know why I have called you, my closest friends and comrades, here tonight? To ask your aid. For too long have I been silent while our enemy, Vieri de’ Pazzi, has gone about this town slandering my family, dragging our name through the mud, and trying in whatever pathetic way he can to demean us. Ordinarily, I would never stoop to kicking such a mangy cur, but just the other night he attempted to assault my littlest sister, and so I could hardly-”

 

“Enough of your nonsense, _grullo_!”

 

Stepping back from a thrown rock that had landed at her feet, Maria turned to sneer at Vieri and the laughable allies – allies whose families had probably been bought off or threatened to make them all come out to this battle – as they made their way into the same, wide alleyway that she, her brothers, and their own, true allies stood together.

 

“ _Bona sera_ , Vieri!” her brother greeted cordially. “We were just talking about you! Surprised to see _you_ here; I thought the Pazzi hired others to do their dirty work.”

 

“It’s _your_ family that calls for guards whenever there’s trouble, _codardo_! Afraid to handle things yourself?” Vieri returned; Maria scoffed at him.

 

“Your sister seemed quite satisfied with the _handling_ I gave her earlier!” Ezio taunted, and Maria laughed openly.

 

“What do you say to _that_?! You and your _famiglia di fottitori cavallo_ can’t just go around saying whatever you want!”

 

“Watch your tongue, _principessa_ , or I’ll cut it out of your mouth!”

 

“ _Bastardo_!”

 

She didn’t see exactly what happened after her middle brother rushed that bastard Vieri before he could fully draw the dagger he was beginning to pull out, since Federico pulled her back in among the watching crowds and told some of the larger boys there to keep watch over her, but Maria was sure that Ezio would be able to beat whatever low-class lapdogs that Vieri had been able to scrape up.

 

The sounds of fighting were confusing, and more than a bit thrilling, and Maria wished for a moment that she was a bit smaller so she could have sat on the shoulders of one of their allies and been able to _see_ what was going on; still, if she’d been _that_ small, her brothers would have flatly refused to bring her along to this kind of thing at all.

 

“Come on, _sorellina_ ,” Federico called, as she saw both of her older brothers making their way over to where she was standing.

 

“ _Dio mio_ , what happened to your face, Ezio?” she demanded, seeing the large, bleeding gash down the right side of her middle brother’s mouth.

 

“ _Now_ you see why I insisted on you seeing a doctor, _fratellino_?”

 

“All right, all right,” her middle brother said, sounding playfully harassed. “I guess, if it really worries _you_ , _sorellina_. At least I have enough for a short visit.”

 

Grumbling at the utterly troublesome things that her adorable fool of a middle brother’s pride could drive him to do at times, Maria followed along with her brothers as they went to find a doctor to tend to Ezio’s wound. When the three of them finally found their way to a one-room building whose interior managed to seem small and almost cramped from all of the strange tools and plants that Maria had never truly been curious enough to ask about.

 

Listening as her brothers spoke to the doctor, who had naturally not been particularly pleased to be woken up at such a late hour, though he’d been a bit more understanding once he’d seen what kind of injuries her middle brother had taken.

 

“You must help him!” Federico exclaimed, the grin on his face giving lie to the urgency of his tone. “That pretty face is his only asset!”

 

“Hey, _fottiti_!” Ezio grumped, making a rude gesture where Federico couldn’t help but see it.

 

Soon enough, however, the doctor had managed to get her silly middle brother to sit down and behave himself. At least long enough that he was able to stitch up Ezio’s wound, and to make an appointment at their _palazzo_ the next morning to remove them. So, at least all of that was good, and the three of them left after Ezio had paid the doctor for his time.

 

“Here, it’s our father’s best _grappa_ ,” Federico said, offering Ezio a flask. “Better than mother’s milk for a man in your condition. And some for you, little Maria.”

 

“ _Grazie, fratello_ ,” she said, taking the generous swallow that had been offered to her.

 

“Quite a night,” Federico said, once the three of them had finished drinking their _grappa_.

 

“Indeed,” Ezio said, looking as though he were trying his very hardest not to grin. “If only they could all be as much fun as this. Oh, wait,” he said, in response to the grin she could see on Federico’s face, and the one she could feel on her own. “They are.”

 

The three of them shared a laugh, before Federico continued speaking, though the smile remained firmly on his face.

 

“Even so, I think a little food and drink wouldn’t be a bad thing before we go home. It’s late, I know, but there’s a taverna nearby where they don’t close until breakfast time-”

 

“And you and the owner are good friends?” Ezio asked, the smile on his face suggesting that he already knew the answer.

 

“How did you guess?” Federico asked, with a laugh.

 

And so, the three of them made their way along the streets until they came to the inn whose owner Federico was such good friends with, and not long after that, they were all sitting down to a hearty meal of varied meats, breads, and wonderful cheeses. Leaning softly against Ezio once she had eaten her fill, Maria smiled as her middle brother wrapped her left arm around his neck in turn. Once Federico and Ezio had finished their own meals, the three of them left the inn behind and ventured back out into the night streets.

 

Maria barely had the time to take even a step, before she felt Ezio’s arms lifting her up onto his back.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

“I thought you said I was too heavy for this, _fratello mio_!”

 

Laughing at his silly littlest sister’s exclamation, Ezio cuddled her close. “You might be growing quite a bit, _sorellina_ , but I can still manage this for a little while longer.”

 

Federico laughed cheerfully, looking at the pair of them where they stood, little Maria riding on his back the way she’d done ever since she was tiny. Not that little Maria _wasn’t_ still tiny, but if he said that around her too many times, she’d start to glare at him.

 

“We should head home now, you two,” their eldest brother said, smiling. “Father’s sure to be wondering where we’ve gone.”

 

“Yes,” he said, his good mood flagging slightly in the face of what he was, like as not, going to have to deal with when the three of them returned to the _palazzo_ Auditore at last. “And I’d rather avoid a lecture.”

 

“Yes,” little Maria said, laughing softly. “ _Padre_ isn’t going to be happy you’re out so late, and even less when he finds out you took me, too.”

 

“ _Diavolo_ ,” he muttered. “Sometimes I forget how little you really are, _piccola_ Maria. But, you’re right; _Padre’s_ going to be even madder once he finds out about _that_.”

 

“How about a race back home, then?” Federico asked, grinning. “Or, are you afraid you won’t be able to win with all that extra weight on your back?”

 

He could hear little Maria’s playful growl from where she was situated on his back, and grinned in challenge at their eldest brother. “Well, now you’ve done it; I’m afraid I have no choice now but to run you into the ground!”

 

Federico laughed. “We’ll just see about that, _fratellino_. On three: one, two, three!”

 

The both of them started off at a strong sprint, with little Maria shifting her legs so that they wrapped more loosely around his waist, letting him breathe more easily so he could run faster. The sparse amounts of people out this late at night – not even enough to be called crowds, really – made things easier, but a bit less interesting. Really, their daytime races were a lot more fun.

 

Breathing heavily once he’d made it to the street just before their _palazzo_ , Ezio gently tugged little Maria’s arms loose from his shoulders, supporting his littlest sister as she slid back down to the ground.

 

“I think we won,” little Maria said, sounding a bit surprised.

 

“Well, I guess you’re _not_ such a _tartaruga_ , after all,” Federico said teasingly, drawing another playful growl from little Maria.

 

Before either of them had the chance to say anything in response, Ezio felt his littlest sister darting around him, and then heard the sound of his older brother squawking as he was firmly swatted. Muffling his laughter as well as he could manage, as he watched little Maria chase Federico around, swatting him with light slaps that couldn’t have hurt _nearly_ as much as Federico was playing them up to. Still, little Maria seemed cheerful, and as long as his siblings weren’t truly hurting each other, Ezio was content to watch them at play.

 

“All right, all right, I surrender,” Federico laughed, holding up his hands in supplication. “Have mercy on me, _sorellina_!”

 

“Well, as long as you’re sorry, _fratello mio_ ,” little Maria said, wagging a finger as she playfully scolded him.

 

He and Federico both laughed, but their eldest brother sobered more quickly than either of them. “It’s a good life we lead,” Federico said, an uncharacteristic solemnity about him.

 

“The best,” he said, leaning back against a nearby wall as he looked out towards the _palazzo_ the three of them shared with the rest of their family. “And may it never change.”

 

“May it never change _us_ , either,” Federico said, the smile coming back to his face.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Curling up closer to her brothers as the three of them stood just across the way from their _palazzo_ , Maria smiled as the three of them made their way back up to the rooftops. She could still hear Ezio and Federico talking, but for the moment she was far more focused on getting back into their _palazzo_ than anything her brothers might have been talking about. Of course, once she stood inside the grounds of their _palazzo_ , Maria looked up to see that it was only Federico who had come back with her.

 

“Where did Ezio get off to?” she asked, after looking around to see if she could find her silly middle brother.

 

“Christina,” Federico said.

 

“ _Dio mio_ ,” she muttered, shaking her head. “He really is hopeless.”

 

“You get no arguments from me, _sorellina_ ,” Federico said, grinning as the pair of them prepared to edge past the guards that served their family.

 

Those who served during the night were no less faithful and loyal than those who served during the day, and while that was a good thing by all accounts, it _did_ make it just that much harder to sneak past them when the need arose. Times like these, Maria would find herself wishing that she could have turned invisible, somehow. Perhaps with one of those fantastic cloaks that the witches and sorcerers in those stories that Mama would read her sometimes.

 

Sighing with relief as she came into sight of her room, Maria tensed slightly when she felt a hand on her left shoulder.

 

“What has you up so late, little Maria?”

 

“Papa,” she exclaimed, guiltily surprised to find their father standing calmly behind her. “I didn’t know that you’d still be up,” she said, shifting under his firm gaze as he stood over her.

 

“Ah, so you thought you would be able to sneak back in under my nose, did you?”

 

She wilted under his stern, disapproving gaze. “I’m sorry, Papa. I should have told Ezio I couldn’t go with him, but I just hated Vieri so much-”

 

“What does _Ezio_ have to do with this, Maria?”

 

She winced; her middle brother wasn’t going to be happy that she’d been the one to give him away. Yes, Papa probably _would_ have figured such a thing out when her middle brother failed to return to the house in the morning, but Maria couldn’t help feeling as though she should have chosen her words better when she was speaking. When Ezio found out, he was certain to be disappointed.

 

Still, she was not Ezio that she was facing, here at this moment it was Papa she had to speak with.


	146. Working day and night

It was hard, particularly at moments such as these, to remember just how fragile little Maria’s life truly was; she acted so much like one of his true-born children, it was all he could do to remember that she was a Treasure Guardian. To remember that, if the Templars chanced a glimpse of her silver hair or yellow eyes, they would do everything in their power to bring her back under their control. True, he and his fellow Assassins would not allow such a thing to happen unopposed, but the fact was that he had taken this job – built this _life_ – to escape from the constant stresses that a member of the Brotherhood was subjected to was not one that Giovanni could lightly allow himself to forget.

 

He’d no wish to drag his family into such turmoil, particularly when such a thing could be easily avoided with a bit of discretion.

 

So, after thoroughly admonishing little Maria for her carelessness and then sending her to bed, Giovanni Auditore made his own way back to bed. He wasn’t as annoyed with Ezio’s escapade as he knew his wife would be – truly, the second-eldest of his sons reminded Giovanni of himself at the same age – but still, he knew that his Maria would wish to discipline the boy in her own way, once she realized what he had been about.

 

Still, all of that would be for later, once he himself had gotten some sleep.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Panting as he hauled himself up onto a nearby rooftop, after managing to lose the guards that his sweet Christina’s father employed, Ezio let himself breathe a bit more freely. Having to lose guards first thing in the morning hadn’t been exactly what he’d planned on, but getting to spend a morning with Christina had been more than worth it. Still, now he had to get home before anyone had the chance to notice that he’d been gone at all.

 

And yes, there were those who would have probably said that that kind of thing was a fool’s hope, but those people weren’t  here; and most of them were idiots, anyway.

 

Scaling the side of his _palazzo’s_ walls, Ezio breathed more easily once he had over the edge of the roofline and could no longer be seen by anyone walking past on the street. Looking down into the courtyard of the _palazzo_ that he and his family all shared, he smiled when he realized that there weren’t any guards around to catch sight of what he was going to be doing. Lowering himself back down into the courtyard, Ezio dropped back to the ground with a smile.

 

He’d just need to make it back to his room, and everything would be right again; at least as far as anyone else knew, anyway.

 

“Ezio.”

 

Tensing up all over again as he finds himself confronted by Giovanni Auditore, Ezio turned quickly. “Good morning, Father.”

 

“Come with me,” Giovanni Auditore said, the severe expression on his face wilting any desire Ezio might have had to resist.

 

Still, best to keep up appearances; maybe he could get off with just a lecture, instead of a thrashing. “Is something wrong?”

 

“Do you think me blind and deaf, my son?” Giovanni asked, the stern expression on his face not diminishing even a single bit as the pair of them walked together. “I know all about your fight with Vieri de’ Pazzi last night. And then this little visit to Christina Vespucci! Your behavior is unacceptable,” Giovanni Auditore said, as Ezio continued to wilt under the sternness of his words and his glare in equal measures. “It… It…” he looked over his shoulder, almost as though he was checking for anyone else who might overhear this conversation of theirs; Ezio wondered, just for a moment, whether his thoughts about the reason for just such a change in mood could be right or not. “It reminds me of myself, when I was your age,” he continued; and, just so quickly as that, Ezio found his jovial father standing before him once more. “I assume these misadventures won’t interfere with your work today?”

 

“No, _Padre_ ,” he said, relieved to have escaped with only a lecture, and happy that he and his father had managed to find yet more common ground between the pair of them. “You have my word.”

 

“Good, come,” Father said, making his way back over to his large, well-appointed desk. “I’ve prepared some documents for Lorenzo de’ Medici to review. I need them delivered to him.”

 

“With haste, Father,” he said, taking the letter as it was handed to him.

 

“Return to me when it’s done,” Father said, smiling with the same pride that always seemed to shine out of his eyes whenever he regarded any of them.

 

“Of course, Father,” he said, tucking the letter safely into his pouch so that he wouldn’t chance losing it.

 

Turning and calling a last farewell over his shoulder, Ezio made his way back out into the streets of _Firenze_ , after only a brief stop at his room to clean himself up from the night’s… activities. Keeping to the back streets for long enough to get himself out of sight of the sight of the crowds within the city at large, he quickly scaled a nearby wall once he’d done so. It was better, up among the rooftops at the peak of the world; somehow, he’d always felt more himself up there.

 

It wasn’t something he’d likely be able to explain, but he had a good feeling that both Federico and little Maria understood even _without_ the words being spoken between them.

 

As he continued on, Ezio soon found himself looking down upon a _palazzo_ that was only slightly less familiar to him than his own. Especially after having spent so many times over there for midday meals and the occasional dinner. And so, he found a place to make his way back down to the ground, landing lightly on his feet with the grace and ease that he had worked so long to develop.

 

“ _Bon travato_ , Ezio!” Finding himself greeted by Boetio, Ezio smiled; it was a real stroke of luck to have found one of Lorenzo’s most trustworthy and dedicated servants so quickly. “How are you?”

 

“Same as ever,” he said easily. “I have a letter here for _Messer_ Lorenzo.”

 

“I’ll see to it that he receives it when he returns,” Boetio said, holding out a hand for the letter in question.

 

“Returns?” Ezio echoed, having been given no reason to expect such a complication.

 

“They’ve gone to Villa Careggi, I’m afraid. And are not expected back for at least another day,” Boetio said, hand returning to his side after a moment’s wait.

 

“I’ll let my father know,” he said, handing over the document, knowing that it would be safe in the hands of such a faithful man.

 

Bidding Boetio his thanks and a good day, Ezio turned his path back to the back streets that he’d previously used to come within sight of Lorenzo’s _palazzo_ , then made his way back up to the rooftops once he’d managed to do such. Covering the distance between their two _palazzos_ much quicker than he would if he’d bothered with going through the winding streets, and with much less chance of being spotted by Pazzi thugs or that little swine Vieri, Ezio was soon able to make his way down the side of a nearby building, and was quickly standing before his family’s _palazzo_ once again.

 

“Keep up the good work,” Federico called mockingly, as he jogged lightly past.

 

“Shut up,” he shot back, making a rude gesture in passing.

 

The sound of voices from within Father’s office caused him to pause, listening to see if he could find out just who it was before he made his way inside. Or, if he would even be allowed inside in the first place. It seemed as though Father was speaking to the Gonfaloniere about something; there was something about Francesco de’ Pazzi being in prison, and while he’d probably been as much of a _bastardo_ as Vieri – if not worse, for having raised him – it didn’t sound as though either his father or Uberto were particularly untroubled by what should have been at least _some_ kind of a victory.

 

Even a small once over those Pazzi _bastardi_ should have been cause for at least a minor celebration, and this was hardly small.

 

Gathering himself for what he was about to do, and shoving his curiosity to the back of his mind so that it would not trouble him so much, Ezio rapped twice upon the door to call attention to himself, and smiled softly as he was let in. Yes, he hardly intended to make a scene about the fall of the elder Pazzi, but he was hardly going to pretend that such a thing had _not_ happened.

 

“Ah, hello son. You remember my friend Uberto, yes?” Father asked, once he had stepped through the door and come into sight of the room’s occupants.

 

“Good morning, Gonfaloniere Alberti,” he greeted, the formality of their current arrangement hardly lost on him.

 

“To you as well, young man,” Uberto said, a kindly smile spreading across his rounded face.

 

“I trust you delivered the message,” Father said, his expression expectant.

 

“ _Sí, Padre_ , but it seems Lorenzo is out of town.”

 

“Hmm. I did not anticipate this,” Father said, sounding troubled.

 

“What does it matter?” Uberto asked, clearly aiming to be reassuring. “So you wait another day or two.”

 

“Listen, your mother and Claudia have been looking for you. I’ll have need of you later, but for now, see if you can help them,” Father said, and while the tone of his words were soft, Ezio knew an order when he heard it.

 

Still… “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes. Now, if you’ll excuse us?”

 

There was really only one thing he could say in the face of _that_ tone. “ _Sí, Padre_.”

 

Turning to leave, after having bid the pair of them a fond farewell and receiving Uberto’s in turn, Ezio turned and made his way back to the courtyard of their _palazzo_. There was about the usual amount of sound being funneled through the air – his mother’s singing, his little sisters talking together with their heads leaned close, and running footsteps that he thought might have belonged  to the youngest boy of their family – and Ezio smiled to hear it. He did so love hearing the sounds of life echoing through the courtyard.

 

Even when it was night and everything was quiet, just the knowledge that the next day would be filled with the same life and sound as usual made him happy to know about it.

 

Making his way over to where Claudia and little Maria were sitting, since it seemed as though Claudia was troubled by something, Ezio sat down on the bench just on the opposite side of Claudia than little Maria.

 

“What’s wrong, Claudia?” he asked, gently laying his right hand on her right shoulder; his younger sister sniffled in response.

 

“She says that the other girls at her school have been saying… hurtful things about… Well, about her and Duccio,” little Maria said, looking worriedly at him from behind the still-sniffling form of Claudia where she sat nestled between the pair of them.

 

“Harpies!” he said, gesturing so as to fling out all their hurtful words like the useless garbage they were. “You’re better of without them, _sorellina_ Claudia.”

 

“I,” Claudia sniffled again, clearly trying as best she could to bring her turbulent emotions back under control. “I think they might be right. Duccio…I think he’s been… unfaithful.”

 

Grinding his teeth as little Maria leaned back in, cuddling Claudia in an effort to comfort her as best she could after that _bastardo_ Duccio had broken her fragile heart with his philandering.

 

“I want him to _suffer_ for what he did!” Claudia said, raising her teary eyes to look first him and then little Maria in the face once more.

 

“ _Sí_ , _sorellina_ , and I will make certain he does,” he vowed, his resolve growing all the more firm in the face of his younger sister’s distress. “Watch over her, eh little Maria?”

 

“Of course, _fratello_ ,” their littlest sister said, nodding as she settled more comfortably next to Claudia, wrapping her small, slender arms around their other sister’s shoulders as the pair of them leaned into each other’s embrace again. “Give Duccio a kick in the balls for me, all right?”

 

“I’ll give him more than just that,” he said, determinedly rising back to his feet, offering his little sisters a last, fierce smile before he turned to leave the grounds of their _palazzo_ once again.

 

It wasn’t _so_ hard to find Duccio, though the _bastardo_ did turn out to be just the kind of philandering scum that Claudia’s so-called friends had mocked her about. It made beating him up all the more satisfying, though there remained a small part of Ezio that wished he hadn’t had to do such a thing. He wished that Claudia had managed to be engaged to a good man, one who would have loved his younger sister as she deserved to be loved.

 

It was just the same kind of wish he had for little Maria; the same, he expected, that any good brother had for their own sister, no matter how few or how many they may have had.

 

Once he’d returned to his family’s _palazzo_ , Ezio found himself stopped short by Petruccio’s enthusiastic calling.

 

“Hey, Ezio!”

 

“What are you doing out here, Petruccio?” he asked, concerned for the youngest of his brothers. “You should be in bed.”

 

“I want those feathers,” Petruccio said, pointing to the top of a tower on a nearby building.

 

“What for?” he asked, though he suspected that he wouldn’t be wrong if he chanced a guess.

 

“It’s a secret,” his littlest brother said, grinning cheekily at him, all the while holding an intricately carved pearwood box to his narrow chest.

 

“If I get them for you, will you go back inside?” he asked, wanting to be certain that Petruccio would get the sleep he needed to keep his strength up.

 

“Yes, I promise,” the littlest of his brothers said, his eyes wide and guileless; Ezio suspected he’d have to put in a bit more work to make _certain_ Petruccio would do as he’d promised, but such was often the way with little brothers.

 

Particularly little brothers whose health wasn’t very good, and who ended up missing out on more than a few childhood activities as a result of that; really, it was just the same with little Maria, and she only had to _pretend_ to be sickly.

 

Once he’d managed to find his way up the tower – a slightly more difficult task than usual, owing to the smoothness of the brickwork – Ezio collected as many feathers as he could find in the currently-empty nest. It turned out that he’d managed to collect fifteen of the things, and so he made his way down and back to the Auditore _palazzo_ with a certain sense of satisfaction. Time would tell, of course, just what _else_ Petruccio would feel he needed after Ezio made it back to him.

 

Landing neatly back on his feet, just a few strides from his littlest brother, Ezio grinned as he saw the smile spreading slowly across Petruccio’s face. Yes, it _was_ quite impish, but it was also clear as day that his littlest brother was happy to see him back. Even in spite of the coming silliness, Ezio knew gratitude when he saw it.

 

“Here, as promised,” he said, handing over the fist full of feathers he’d gathered so carefully.

 

“ _Grazie_ , brother,” Petruccio said, smiling all the more widely.

 

“You still haven’t told me why you want these,” he said, continuing to crouch so that he could remain at eye-level with the littlest of his brothers.

 

“I will, in time,” Petruccio said, wide smile turning mysterious.

 

“All right, keep your secrets,” he said, grinning at his littlest brother as he stood back up. “But now, it’s time for you to go back to bed.”

 

“Don’t forget that _you_ should be getting to sleep soon, too,” Petruccio called back, sticking out his tongue as he turned to make his way back to his room.

 

“Brat,” Ezio muttered, grinning in fond exasperation as the littlest of his brothers obediently returned to his room at last.

 

Stifling a yawn of his own, Ezio turned his steps toward the dinning room as he heard the sound of one of their kitchen attendants calling all of them to dinner. Smiling as he joined the leisurely procession of his family as they all made their way to the table. Even Petruccio had been invited to the table, though his share was smaller than the rest of theirs, since at the moment he needed sleep more than food. The meal was as wonderful as ever, and Ezio passed along his thanks alongside the rest of his family for the care and attention that had clearly been paid during the course of preparing this meal in particular.

 

After waiting long enough that he could be at least _reasonably_ sure he wouldn’t wake up with the terrible ache in his belly that he’d gotten those few times he’d forgotten to give himself time to relax after a meal before heading to bed, Ezio got up from the reading chair he’d curled up in, and made his way to bed.


	147. In the shadows

After finding that he’d slept in later than he usually did, but also that his father didn’t have any pressing work for him, Ezio rose with a certain sense of relief. He was perfectly aware, of course, that his mother was more than likely to have work of her own that she wished him to do, but those tasks were – more often than not – simpler and more leisurely than those his father asked of him. So, after he’d broken his fast with some bread and cheese, taking a bit of wine to wash it all down, Ezio made his way back out to the main courtyard of the Auditore _palazzo_.

 

He was certain to find her there.

 

Smiling as he felt the bright, warm morning sunlight falling on his upturned face, Ezio turned his eyes back to the courtyard itself; sure enough, there was his mother waiting for him with a kindly smile on her face. Waving as he started into the courtyard, Ezio made his way over to where she was standing.

 

“ _Buon’ giorno,_ Ezio,” she said, turning the gentle smile she’d been wearing upon him.

 

“ _Buon giorno, Madre_. How are you?”

 

“I’m all right. And you?” his mother asked, the kindly expression on her face transforming into one of tolerant amusement. “Still recovering from last night?”

 

“I… have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, trying not to make the face that Federico had told him about so many times; the one that would tell anyone who knew him that he was lying.

 

“Of course not,” she said, still seeming amused. “Anyway, I have an errand to run. I’d like you to join me.”

 

“My pleasure,” he said, turning his steps to follow her as she began to leave.

 

“Come, it’s not far from here,” she said, as the pair of them fell into step with one another and began to make their way out of their _palazzo’s_ courtyard.

 

Smiling slightly as he continued on his way, Ezio found his attention caught by his mother’s unimpressed expression.

 

“I know about your fight with Vieri,” Mother said, as the pair of them made their way out into the bustling streets of Firenze once again.

 

“What fight?” he asked, hoping that Mother wasn’t nearly as well-informed as she was attempting to sound.

 

“Please. Let’s not play this game,” Mother said, as the pair of them turned off of the street that lead to a nearby cathedral, and down in the direction of the Artists’ Quarter of Firenze.

 

“He spoke ill of us, and last night he attacked little Maria,” that last he growled, hardly willing to forgive that _bastardo_ for everything he’d done. “I could hardly allow him to go unpunished.”

 

“I’m sure he’s having a hard time dealing with the accusations against his father. Francesco de’ Pazzi is many things, and none of them good. But, even I never expected he’d be capable of _murder_. Still, even if the pair of you should not have been wandering around so late at night – and I _will_ be having words with you both, make no mistake – your protection of our little Maria was well done, at least.”

 

“ _Grazie, Madre_ ,” he said, pausing for a moment to think. “What will happen to Francesco?”

 

“I imagine there will be a trial,” Mother said, as the pair of them ascended a wide flight of steps.

 

“Will Father speak at it?” he asked, not entirely certain how those kind of things worked.

 

“He’ll have to,” Mother said. “He’s the one with the evidence.”

 

“Still, I wish there was another way,” he muttered, as the pair of them continued deeper into Firenze’s Artists’ Quarter.

 

“You’ve nothing to fear,” Mother gently reassured him. “It is an unfortunate state of affairs, but it will pass.”

 

As the pair of them continued on their way through the Artists’ Quarter, Ezio at last caught sight of their final destination at last. It turned out to be one of the humbler apartments within the Quarter – unlike those bustling with assistants and frequented by clients that Ezio had found himself passing by time and time again on not only their present journey, but on the others he’d made to this place; not all of them at ground-level – and Ezio found himself with only a scant few moments to wonder just who it was that his mother knew in a place like this, before Mother knocked on the front door and Ezio almost immediately found himself faced with the tall, well-dressed form of the artist that Mother had clearly been seeking when she came to this place.

 

Ezio thought that the artist might have been at least six – perhaps even seven – years older than he himself was, and possessed both a thick shock of light brown hair, as well as a luxuriant but neatly-trimmed beard of the same coloring. He’d an air about him that seemed a bit foppish, but at the same time he also appeared rather athletic. Ezio made up his mind to reserve judgment until he’d been able to take the proper measure of Mother’s artist for himself.

 

“Hello, Leonardo,” his mother greeted, the kindly tone of her voice letting him know that this was a man whose company she truly enjoyed; Ezio wondered what kind of man this artist of hers truly was, to garner the attention of his mother.

 

Ezio liked the look of him, at least.

 

“Madonna Maria!” Leonardo greeted, the artist’s demeanor cheerful and a smile on his face as the pair of them exchanged a formal kiss. “This is my son, Ezio,” she said, stepping slightly to the side so that he and Leonardo could face each other more squarely.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Leonardo responded, bowing slightly.

 

“The pleasure is mine,” he said, returning the bow, before straightening up and offering his own formal kiss to the artist.

 

“Let me go and fetch the paintings,” his mother’s artist friend said, turning swiftly on his heel. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Turning back to his mother as she watched Leonardo leave, Ezio found himself completely unsurprised by the next topic she brought up.

 

“He’s very talented.”

 

“I guess,” he said, looking around at all the varied and sundry items scattered over the many counters; truly, Leonardo seemed as though he was as much a natural philosopher as an artist.

 

There were skeletons of small creatures, rows of preserving jars with some plant or other floating inside them, and there were also things – most of them placed at the far end of the workshop – that Ezio found himself completely unable to put a name to.

 

“Self-expression is vital to understanding and enjoying life,” Mother said, the expression on her face telling more clearly than words just how much she approved of Leonardo; Ezio found himself glad that the man was such a worthy friend. “You should find an outlet, yourself.”

 

“I have plenty of outlets,” he said, not truly seeing the point of the conversation they were having; aside from that, he had always been more fond of active pursuits.

 

“I meant _besides_ vaginas,” his mother said, a rather unamused expression coming to her face.

 

“Mother,” he groaned; this had become rather a common bone of contention between the pair of them, lately.

 

Leonardo returned not long after that, and the three of them set off back to the Auditore _palazzo_ once more. Joining in on the conversation those times when it came _his_ turn to speak, Ezio soon found that his initial impression as to Leonardo’s character was indeed more akin to a natural philosopher than any of the few artists Ezio had had a chance to meet. He also seemed to want his work to have some kind of greater meaning, which Ezio could respect even if he didn’t quite know just what it was that Leonardo was looking for, in the end.

 

Returned to their family _palazzo_ at last, he said a fond farewell to his mother, and went off in search of lunch. Once he’d finished his meal, Ezio found himself sought out by Giulio. As usual, he found the secretary’s hurried pace a chore to keep up with, and was as relieved as usual to come to the end of his journey. Standing before the door to his father’s office, Ezio paused for a moment to catch his breath, before knocking at the door and being called in.

 

“I need these packages delivered to associates of mine in the city,” Father said, and Ezio looked down at his desk to see a pair of bulky letters, wrapped in vellum and neatly sealed with wax. “I also need you to retrieve a message for me from a pigeon coop not too far from here.”

 

“ _Va bene_ , I’ll get it done,” he said, nodding.

 

“Come back to me when you’re finished,” Father said, and Ezio wondered at the troubled cast to his face. “There are some things we need to discus. And please, my son, stay out of trouble, hmm?”

 

“I’ll do my best, _Padre_ ,” he said, grinning to try and lighten the mood.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Smiling for his son’s sake, not wanting to worry his middle son with things that might not even happen, Giovanni made a request for Ezio to send in little Maria before he left. His adopted daughter, after all, would be the one most vulnerable to the schemes of the Pazzi and their Templar backers.

 

“You wanted to see me, _Padre_?”

 

“I did,” he said, wishing for a moment that he could have simply called her here to speak about her studies – she truly was a bright child, seeming to take to mathematics and art more than the other subjects that his hired tutors had introduced her to – or about some other matter of joyful import. Still, wishing the world different would do nothing but cause the both of them grief; particularly considering what he knew was likely coming. “Do you remember what I told you, about the men who wear red crosses?”

 

“ _Sí, Padre_ , but-” she paused, agile mind clearly hard at work behind her uncanny yellow eyes. “You mean, they’ve found us?”

 

“It’s likely they never stopped looking, but this has less to do with them, and more to do with the work I’ve been doing. I know you know of the trial of Jacopo de’ Pazzi,” little Maria nodded, and he continued. “The Pazzi, in turn, have been Templars for as long as we Auditore have been Assassins. And so, the Templars will be seeking to attack us not only for the damage my evidence can do at Jacopo’s trial, but also because the factions we both serve are naturally opposed.”

 

“I suppose that makes sense,” little Maria said. “Will they be coming here?”

 

“It’s all too likely that they will,” he said, reaching out to gently steady his youngest daughter with a hand on her right shoulder. “So, I want you to hide yourself within the passage, and if I don’t come to fetch you before the candles start to burn down, go out and find your brother, Ezio, and stay close to him. He’ll be able to protect you, at least.”

 

“ _Sí_ , _Padre_ ,” little Maria said with a nod, though she looked for a moment as though she wished to protest.

 

She didn’t, of course; he’d explained the dangers that the Templars posed to her and the other members of their family on many different occasions. Still, on those same occasions he had also asked that she not share the information he was giving her with any of the other members of their family. He’d expected to have more time; to be able to gently introduce the truth of their struggle to his younger sons and eldest daughter, but he’d not done so.

 

And now, there was so little time left…

 

Handing little Maria a candle that he’d carefully placed in a holder so that his youngest daughter wouldn’t chance burning her hands with the wax dripping from it as she made her way through the hidden passage. The two of them embraced each other a last time, and then Giovanni saw little Maria off into the hidden passage behind the fireplace within his office.

 

Then he paused for a moment, hoping that he would be able to bring her out again…


	148. The conspiracy unveiled

As he made his way back across the rooftops toward the _Palazzo_ Auditore, Ezio found himself completely unable to leave behind the feeling of unease that had been plaguing him ever since he’d spoken with one of the associates of his father that he’d never had the occasion to meet before this very day. He still didn’t know quite what to make of the man, who seemed to have been both poor and more than a bit unsavory, nor the pair that he’d spoken to before that.

 

Those had been, if anything, more disconcerting than the others, consisting as they had of another one of those unsavory men, and a courtesan besides.

 

Ezio still didn’t know what to make of it all, and could only hope that Father would be able to explain what had happened. Still, the feeling of unease wouldn’t leave him alone…

 

The sound of running feet coming from behind him focused Ezio’s attention, and he was just about to whip around and deal with whoever it was that had attempted to accost him, when the feel of small, slender arms around his waist registered in his mind and let him know just who it was that had come for him.

 

“ _Sorellina,_ what are you doing all the way up here?” he asked gently, knowing that – if anyone had seen her climbing up – people would wonder about an allegedly blind girl being able to scale the wall of a building at all.

 

“ _Padre_ said that I should go and find you, if he didn’t come to fetch me before my candle started burning down,” his little sister sniffled.

 

“Father said that?” he echoed, feeling the chill that had settled so heavily in his gut slowly beginning to creep up his spine. “ _Sorellina_ , do you think you can keep up with me?”

 

“ _Sí, fratello._ ”

 

“ _Bene_ , then let’s head home.”

 

The pair of them made their way back over the rooftops in the direction of their family’s _palazzo_ , but when the pair of arrived at an overlooking rooftop, Ezio found that, for all of his growing unease, he was still unprepared to actually see what had happened to his family’s home. There were no lights on at all – not a single lamp burning in any one of the many windows – and the front doors stood wide open. _That,_ of all things, was the most damning bit.

 

The outer doors were _never_ left open, unless it was daylight and their guards were on hand to handle any trouble that might present itself.

 

Steeling himself for whatever he would see inside his home, Ezio called little Maria to his side and the pair of them cautiously made their way down the side of the building and across the deserted square. It was just one more thing that marked out _this_ day as being different – being _worse­_ – than all of the days before it. When the pair of them finally stepped through the open doors and into the empty _palazzo_ , Ezio clenched his teeth as he saw the destruction that had been wrought upon his family’s home.

 

“Annetta!”

 

Little Maria’s sudden shout brought his attention to the maid, who looked to have been preparing to defend herself from whoever might have made it inside their home.

 

“Ser Ezio! Little Maria!” she exclaimed, lowering the heavy, silver candlestick that she had clearly intended to use against anyone else who had attempted to invade their home. “Thank God you’re both safe!”

 

“What happened, Annetta? Where is everyone?” he demanded, feeling slightly better when his littlest sister gently embraced him around the middle.

 

“They took your father and brothers to the _Palazzo della Signoria_ ,” Annetta said, face crumpling in anguish. “To prison!”

 

“And Mother? Claudia? Where are they, Annetta?” little Maria asked, just before he could do the same.

 

“ _Grazie a Dio_ , the both of you managed to make it home!”

 

“Claudia!” in that moment, Ezio couldn’t have said who’s shout was louder, his own or little Maria’s; he _could_ be certain, however, that the both of them were truly pleased to see her.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked, trailing just behind the littlest of his sisters as she hurried over to Claudia’s side.

 

“Mother!” he heard the girl cry suddenly, rushing over to the crumpled form – no longer so proud and stately as he remembered – seated on the ground near an upended table.

 

“She’s in shock,” Annetta said, gentling her voice so that there was less of a chance that little Maria would overhear them; clearly, whatever she had to say wasn’t for innocent ears. “When she resisted, they… _Bastardi!_ ”

 

“It’s not safe here,” he said, not needing – nor _wanting_ – to hear anything more about what had happened to their poor mother; little Maria was already attempting to sooth her namesake, murmuring soft words of comfort as she embraced Mother around the waist. “Is there somewhere you can take them?”

 

“Yes,” Annetta said, sounding thoughtful for a moment, before brightening. “Yes! To my sister’s!”

 

“Good, do that,” he instructed, nodding sharply as Claudia and little Maria both helped to guide Mother out of their ruined home. “In the meantime, I’ll go see Father.”

 

“Be careful, _Messer_ Ezio,” Annetta said, turning back towards him – he thought, just for a moment, that he could see a flash of guilt in his littlest sister’s eyes; Ezio quickly decided that it was merely a reflection of his own – for a last time as she gently escorted the remaining members of his family out of harm’s way. “The guards were looking for you, as well.”

 

“Don’t worry,” he said, offering his sisters and their loyal servant as much of a smile as he could manage, in the face of everything that had happened. “I have ways of moving unseen.”

 

“Come back soon, _fratello mio_ ,” little Maria said, and for a moment Ezio could see that same, brief flash of guilt that he’d managed up till then to convince himself he hadn’t.

 

“As soon as I can, _sorellina_ , I promise,” he said, as he and the free members of his family shared a last embrace. “Take care of them, Annetta; and yourself.”

 

“Of course, _Messer_ Ezio.”

 

Turning quickly, before he could begin making up reasons to delay any longer, Ezio hurried out of his family’s ravaged _palazzo_ and up the side of a nearby building.

 

Sure enough, when he looked down from the rooftops, Ezio could see smaller and larger groups of city guards, all of them seeming to move with the swift purpose of wolf packs; they would be just as deadly if he allowed himself to be caught in their path, Ezio knew. Still, from so high above, Ezio felt at least reasonably confidant that he would be able to evade such men as composed the city guard. Breathing deeply for a moment, the tension of the night and all its horrors having tensed his muscles almost without his being aware of such a thing, Ezio continued across the remaining rooftops that stood between himself and his ultimate destination.

 

He’d soon arrived at the _Palazzo della Signoria_.

 

Carefully scaling the high walls of the tower, making sure that he was out of the sight of both the guards patrolling around the building itself as well as those still hunting down on the ground below, Ezio stepped into the enclosed courtyard on top of the main building. Swiftly breaking the neck of a lone guard who had been too close for comfort, Ezio set the corpse up against the wall to make it appear as though the man were still alive.

 

It wouldn’t do, of course, to be found out merely because he failed to take precautions against such a thing.

 

Scaling the walls protecting the inner-courtyard against any who might have made it past the walls of the one outside, Ezio paused for a moment at the end of the wall. Peeking over the top, making certain that he only exposed his eyes and the top of his head, Ezio studied the inner courtyard for a few, long moments before hauling himself over top of the half-wall before him and taking his first steps into the inner-courtyard.

 

 _Now, all I have to do is get to the tower,_ Ezio mused, narrowing his eyes as he thought of the guards he would soon be forced to deal with. He’d no ill-feeling toward these men or their profession – until this very day, the Auditore had had guards of their own – but as these men were standing between him and his father, Ezio wouldn’t hesitate to kill more of them if such a thing became necessary. Still, such a thing could only serve to delay him, so while he _was_ prepared to act, Ezio still hoped that he would not be forced to.

 

Finally having made it to the tower where his father and brothers were being held, Ezio scaled the last length of wall that stood between him and his father’s cell, and took a moment to be thankful for the ledge – slender as it was – that offered him purchase to stand.


	149. The last secret

“Ezio!”

 

“Father!” he exclaimed, but as quietly as the man himself had done; neither of them wished to alert the guards, after all. “What happened?”

 

“I took a bit of a beating, but I’ll be all right,” Father said, looking as strong as Ezio had ever seen him, in spite of the clear signs that he’d been handled a great deal more roughly than any banker was meant to be; Ezio seethed, but forced himself to maintain his composure in the face of what he would clearly need to do. “What of your mother and sisters?”

 

“Safe, now,” he said, happy to have at least _some_ good news to report.

 

“Annetta took them?”

 

“ _Sí_ ,” he said, nodding reflexively before he realized what it was that his father had _said_. “What, you _knew_ this would happen?!”

 

“Not the way it did, and not this soon,” Father said, looking honestly haggard for the first time in Ezio’s memory; such a thing didn’t feel right in the slightest, as though the world itself had tilted awry. “It doesn’t matter now.”

 

“What do you mean? Explain?!”

 

“There’s no time, so listen closely: return to the house. In my office is a hidden door; use your talent to find it. Beyond it lies a chest. Take _everything_ you find inside. Much of it may seem strange to you, but _all_ of it is important. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes,” he said, head beginning to swim with all of the strange occurrences on this night of all nights.

 

“Good,” Father said, gentling his tone, even if only slightly. “Among the contents is a letter, and with it some documents. I need you to take those documents to _Messer_ Uberto. He was with me in my office this morning.”

 

“The _Gonfaloniere_ , I remember,” he said, feeling _more_ off-balance with every revelation rather than less; such was not meant to be the case with explanations, Ezio could not help but know. “Now please, tell me what’s happening. Are the Pazzi behind this? There was a note for you at the pigeon coop, it said-”

 

The harsh sound of bolts being thrown drew both of their attention, and for a moment it was all Ezio could do not to scream in anguished frustration.

 

“Go Ezio, quickly! If you desire the explanations I could not give, then ask little Maria!”

 

Leaping down from the window, before Father’s words had had the chance to truly sink in, Ezio forced himself not to think so deeply as he made his way back to the Auditores’ abandoned _palazzo_. Once he’d managed that, his breathing a bit heavy for having to move so quickly so he did not catch the eyes of any of the patrolling groups of guards, though as the night advanced they were beginning to thin out. Ezio knew the way the guard shifts changed, but when he’d been moving he hadn’t been quite able to concentrate on those kinds of things considering how much he’d already had on his mind.

 

Finally able to breathe more easily, even standing among the smashed remains of what had once been his family’s property, Ezio hurried across the inner courtyard and made for Father’s office.

 

When he’d managed to make his way back into Father’s office, Ezio paused for a moment, concentrating so that he would be able to use the strange second-sight that – until this very night – he’d not expected Father to even be aware of. However, it was beginning to seem that Father had been aware of a great many things; more than Ezio would have been readily willing to credit him with before all of this.

 

And then, there was the matter of little Maria…

 

Sighing, shaking his head to clear his thoughts and reclaim his resolve, Ezio examined his surroundings once again. At first, it was as though nothing had changed save for the room around him growing darker, but as he began to search the ravaged room in earnest, Ezio began to notice a strange, colorless glow. Those few times he’d used this second-sight of his, he’d seen people in strange, distinct colors; he’d soon come to learn that those same colors held meanings relevant to his interests and those of his family.

 

Red was not to be trusted, yellow were those who held information he could use for various things, and blue was the color of friendship and solidarity.

 

Forcing his thoughts back to the task at hand – it being all too tempting, under the circumstances, to allow his mind to wander – Ezio quickly found the hidden door that Father had spoken of, and quickly located the release catch so he could pass beyond it. The room he found himself standing in after doing so was quite small, though not so much as he’d been expecting considering that the entrance had been concealed behind a hidden door upon the left wall.

 

In any case, he was able to find the trunk quickly, but what he saw _inside_ …

 

Running his hands over the white robes he’d discovered within the chest, Ezio found himself seized with the sudden urge to don the woolen robes before him. Taking a moment to gather the other things within the chest – the sealed documents and the letter that Father had instructed him to deliver to _Messer_ Uberto, as well as the rolled vellum scroll, both since Father had instructed him to take everything within the chest, as well as because the scroll seemed to have some importance in and of itself; perhaps Leonardo would be able to make more sense of it – Ezio carefully set them aside and began to don the odd but important-seeming robes that he had found. As he’d expected, they were made of wool of a very fine quality, but seemed to settle more lightly across his shoulders than he’d been expecting.

 

Almost as though it were made for him; Ezio wondered for a moment if that had indeed been the case…


	150. Vengeance Awakes

Shaking his head as he forced his thoughts back to the present once more, Ezio gathered up the documents and carried them from the small room that he’d discovered hidden away in the secret places of Father’s office. Finding one of the pouches that Giulio used to ferry important documents from place to place on Father’s orders, Ezio tucked away the important documents _he_ had been sent to retrieve, and then made his way out of the office after taking care to close the concealing door behind him once more.

 

Making his way back out into the courtyard, as empty and desolate as it had been since the start of this horrible night, Ezio quickly regained the rooftops before he could be spotted by any particularly zealous guard patrols.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

She hadn’t quite known what to make of the errand Mother had sent her on – communicating with silent looks and touches, in place of the words that still seemed to be beyond her – and, really, she still didn’t. But, Mother had clearly wanted her to deliver the sword that she was currently carrying on her back out to her brother as quickly as she could manage, so that was what she was going to do; even if she _didn’t_ understand quite why Mother had thought he would need it. After all, all of their family was good at staying out of sight.

 

At least, once they had warning that they’d need to…

 

Sighing at the memory of just _why_ the seven of them weren’t back inside their _palazzo_ enjoying a well-earned night’s rest, Maria hurried her stride across the rooftops, seeking out a familiar form against the dimness of the moonlit sky. Huffing with some satisfaction once she’d managed to pick him out, Maria searched for a good point to intercept his path so that she would be able to meet up with him, to at least tell him that Mother was doing all right while she delivered the sword that had been meant for him. Turning her path so that the pair of them would come together on a rooftop four houses over from the one where her middle brother was presently standing, Maria made sure to keep him in sight.

 

For a moment, however, she found herself wishing that she’d had more time to enjoy her present circumstances; it was a rare moment, after all, when she was allowed not only to travel without her darkened glasses, but with her silver hair uncovered as well…

 

“Wha- Little Maria! What are you doing out here?”

 

“Mother sent me to find you,” she whispered back, standing firm in the face of her middle brother’s expression of clear disapproval.

 

“Wait, she’s speaking again?”

 

Sighing, Maria shook her head. “I wish. But, well, you know how Mother is,” she said, making herself smile gently, if only to put Ezio at ease. “Anyway, she wanted you to have this,” Maria continued, pulling out just enough of the sword on her back to prove that she was carrying it.

 

Seeing Ezio wearing Father’s Assassin gear… Well, it only served to show just how wrong this entire night had gone, in the end.

 

“This doesn’t surprise you,” Ezio said, his tone becoming distinctly wary; Maria could only be grateful that he didn’t sound at all accusatory, that she still had his trust, even after everything that had happened.

 

“No,” she said, _wanting_ to lower her head, but knowing she couldn’t if the pair of them were going to be able to keep up their current pace. “It doesn’t.”

 

“Father also said that I should ask _you_ about… whatever it was that he couldn’t manage to tell me before the guards returned,” her middle brother said, his tone sounding a bit warmer, though no less worried.

 

She sighed shakily. “Papa… He said that shouldn’t tell you any of what I know, save for in the most dire of circumstances.”

 

“Well, I would say that right now qualifies,” her middle brother said, a gentle tone returning to his voice, along with his smile. “Still, we should wait until we have some safety, if what you have to say is really so dangerous to share that Father told you _that_.”

 

“ _Gratzie, fratello mio_ ,” she said, feeling distinctly lighter as the pair of them continued on.

 

“Of course, _sorellina_ ,” he said, planting gentle kisses upon both of her cheeks, and then another upon her brow.

 

The pair of them hurried on in silence, drawing steadily to _Messer_ Uberto’s _palazzo_ , and Maria allowed herself to relax a bit more with each step. Soon enough, she would be able to unburden herself of the load of secrets she had been carrying ever since she had been old enough to know what a secret even _was_. Yes, Father had trusted her, but his trust had – at times – felt like just as heavy a burden as the secrets she’d been asked to carry. She knew she’d borne up well under both, Father had said so often enough, but there was no denying her relief at being able to set them down at last.

 

She knew that even Father would say she’d carried them long enough…

 

When the pair of them finally arrived before _Messer_ Uberto’s _palazzo_ – having enough manners, at least, not to go clambering into his courtyard the way Ezio had probably done with their own – Ezio frowned down at the guards standing arrayed before it.

 

“Give me the sword, little Maria.”

 

Handing it over without a word, knowing that this was the last moment that her middle brother would have for his hands to remain unblooded by their line of work – that of the Assassins – Maria wished him luck and stayed up atop the roof as she’d been directed to. Sighing as she watched her brother cut down the men who’d once stood between them and their present goal, Maria clambered easily down to meet Ezio upon the field of battle that he’d just created.

 

“Come on, let’s get this last part done with.”

 

“Of course, _fratello mio_.”

 

_~AC: II~_

 

He could see that his littlest sister was still a bit uneasy with everything that had gone on, but considering what she’d had to just watch him do – not to mention the secrets that Father had been having her keep for some reason or other – Ezio figured that such a thing was perfectly natural.

 

Knocking on the front door of the _Gonfaloniere’s palazzo_ , Ezio quickly found himself and little Maria facing the very man he’d been sent to meet.

 

“Our father and brothers have been imprisoned!” he exclaimed, once he’d managed to find his voice again; he felt little Maria’s arms around his waist, and squeezed her back in thanks for the gesture. “I was told to bring you this,” he said, handing over the sealed letter that he’d found within Father’s hidden chest.

 

Understanding lit the _Gonfaloniere’s_ kindly face quickly, after that. “I see. It’s a misunderstanding, Ezio. I’ll clear everything up.”

 

“How?” he asked, feeling more than shaken about the whole affair.

 

“The documents here contain evidence of a conspiracy: against your family, and against the city. I’ll present it at your father’s hearing in the morning, and your family will be released.”

 

The pair of them both thanked him profusely, but the _Gonfaloniere_ seemed perturbed, for some reason, when little Maria called him Uncle in passing, holding his hand as though she would have rushed forward to embrace the man if the pair of them had not been pressed for time.

 

“Of course, my children,” he said, the kindly expression on his face returning quickly, though it seemed slightly strained; of course, anyone who had been forced to speak at the trial of such a good friend would feel the same, Ezio thought. “Do you two need a place to stay? You’re both more than welcome here.”

 

“No, _gratzie_ ,” he said, sighing with the relief of having such a difficult task over and done with. “I’ll meet you at the _Palazzo_.”

 

“Don’t worry,” the _Gonfaloniere_ said, the kindly expression on his face having returned in full. “Everything is going to be fine.”

 

The pair of them offered their thanks once more, hurrying off into the night.


	151. Final farewells

_She looks so happy,_ Uberto reflected, feeling a terrible pang in his heart as he turned to face Rodrigo.

 

“Well, it seems as though we’ve found one of our lost doves,” the man said, his harsh voice matching the smile upon his face entirely too well.

 

“Must we do such a thing, Rodrigo? She seems so happy, staying where she is,” he said, looking back at the Grand Master of the Italian Templars.

 

“I think you will find, my old friend, that a dove can be satisfied with remarkably little if properly kept,” Rodrigo said, his tone not inviting any sort of disagreement. “But enough about that. I trust you understand what you’re to do tomorrow?”

 

“Yes,” Uberto said, forcing himself not to sigh or hang his head; Rodrigo was not a man who understood sorrow or sympathy.

 

“Good,” the Grand Master said, snatching the letter from his hands and throwing it contemptuously into the still-roaring fire. “I look forward to meeting you at the _Palazzo_ tomorrow.”

 

Once Rodrigo had passed out of sight into the inner-rooms of his own _palazzo_ , Uberto Alberti allowed himself to slump bonelessly into his chair with a long, despairing sigh. There may have been no true affection between him and Giovanni Auditore, but he could not help wishing that there might have been _something_ he might have been able to do for the man’s children. Still, with his situation so dire as it was, there was little he could do in the face of Rodrigo’s continued insistence.

 

The affairs of Assassins and Templars were not truly his concern; and, close as those children might have been to his heart, his own family took precedence in the end.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Pausing for a moment, perched atop a rooftop only four buildings away from where the pair of them had spoken to _Messer_ Uberto, Maria looked over to Ezio. Her middle brother seemed to be thinking deeply about something.

 

“What would you say to spending the night with Christina, little Maria?”

 

“Is there any particular reason you want to go there, _fratello mio_?” she asked, tempted for a moment to lighten the mood, but knowing that this was hardly the time.

 

“I don’t think she’ll be one to turn us away if we ask,” her middle brother said, looking calmer and more collected than she’d seen him since even _before_ the pair of them had spoken to _Messer_ Uberto. “And, I can’t deny that I could use some comfort, tonight of all nights.”

 

“I see,” she said, smiling gently as she nudged his right arm. “Well, let’s go, then.”

 

The pair of them shared a smile as they started across the rooftops once more, this time in the direction of the _Palazzo_ Vespucci.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Once they’d arrived below the balcony of Christina’s window, Ezio knocked, softly but urgently, on the wooden shutters. It took a moment, but Christina herself soon came to greet them. He felt a swell of relief at the sight of her, and though she _did_ seem a bit startled to see the pair of them, Ezio did not find himself waiting long for her natural kindness to persuade her to allow him and little Maria into her room so that the pair of them could take some rest after the terrible day that they had both had.

 

“ _Sorellina_?” he called gently, as the pair of them settled down with Christina in her bed for the night.

 

“What is it, _fratello mio_?”

 

“It’s a little late to start telling tales, but I _would_ prefer to have an explanation about those secrets that Father asked you to keep,” he said, watching the expressions of curiosity and then resolve as they played across his littlest sister’s face.

 

“Yes,” little Maria said, pausing for a moment, her eyes taking in both him and Christina, before the expression of resolve that he’d seen on her face grew all the firmer. “And, if you truly are determined to share your life with Christina, the both of you should know just what kind of life our family has lived.”

 

He couldn’t help the wince that showed on his face, once his littlest sister had spoken those words; they weren’t something he’d ever thought to hear from his carefree little Maria. Cuddling her closer, wanting more than anything for the littlest of his sisters to be able to bask in what little comfort he could give considering the state he was in – to say nothing of the secrets she’d carried for so long – Ezio curled up for the night. Feeling Christina’s gentle arms wrapping around him from the other side of his little Maria’s smaller body, Ezio felt a certain sense of peace steal over him.

 

He was certain that things would look much better tomorrow.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

When the three of them awoke the next morning, the thought of what little Maria would soon tell him and Christina both weighing more heavily on his mind than he would have thought possible if he’d been told earlier that the littlest of his sisters was holding secrets at the behest of their father. Still, given everything that had gone on in order to bring them all to this point, Ezio knew that he could hardly be said to have been the same, carefree boy that he’d been even so little as a day ago. In that light, Ezio found that he could not, in good faith, say that he was surprised by the grimness of his littlest sister’s words of only the previous night.

 

“ _Buon giorno,_ ” little Maria said, her tone softer and more meek than Ezio would have ever wished to hear.

 

“ _Buon giorno, sorellina,_ ” he said, reaching out to lovingly caress the right side of her face. “I want you to know that – whatever secrets Father gave you to keep – nothing you say will ever change the way I feel about you.”

 

“ _Millie grazie_ , _fratello mio_ ,” his littlest sister said, seeming to regain at least _some_ of the confidence she had lost over the course of the previous, horrible night. Then, taking a deep breath, and seeming to gather strength from some hidden reservoir that Ezio had never before been given cause to suspect she had, his little Maria sat upright in the bed that he, she, and Christina were all presently sharing. “This is the story, as Father told it to me.”

 

Listening more intently than he’d ever found cause to do before, Ezio found himself hearing the strange, sad, and rather frightening tale of Assassins, Templars, and what seemed to be a third group, caught between them.

 

“This treasure that you… People _like_ you,” he corrected himself, not entirely certain that he enjoyed the idea of his littlest sister having been bound up in events that were so much bigger than not only her, but also of most of those who had thrown in their lot on one side or another. “Have been charged with the keeping of these Pieces of Eden?”

 

“Yes,” little Maria said, tilting her head downward slightly in thought. “Before you ask, _fratello mio_ , I haven’t seen one of them, nor does anyone I’ve spoken to know of their ultimate origins.”

 

“I’m glad, at least, that Father managed to keep you safe from _that_ ,” he said, settling back upon Christina’s bed; the three of them had awakened before dawn, both eager to know just what it was that Father had told little Maria, and curious as to why she had been told to keep such a thing secret from even their family. “Still, I’m not sure what to make of all this. This tale of Templars, Assassins, and guardians of treasures said to be pulled from the Garden of Eden… it just sounds too much like fantasy to be real.”

 

“That was what I said to Father, when he started telling me about all this,” little Maria said, a slight, amused smile on her face.

 

Smiling back, even if only fleetingly, Ezio turned his attention to Christina. “I’m sorry to have ignored you for so long, _amore mio_.”

 

“It’s all right,” Christina said, a gentle smile on her face. “All of that… It was overwhelming even to me. Still, you both said that there was something you needed to do today. Why don’t you both take care of that? I think I need time for this strange story to… settle in my mind, a bit.”

 

The three of them had swiftly agreed, and Ezio embraced Christina a last time before he and little Maria made their way out of her window and back down into the streets of Firenze. The muggy air of what seemed to be a decidedly overcast day pressed down on the both of them, as he and little Maria made their way steadily towards the _Palazzo della Signoria_ , to meet with the _Gonfaloniere_ and bring Father, Federico, and Petruccio to Annetta’s house and hence back into the warm circle of their family’s arms.

 

However, as Ezio and little Maria drew closer to the _Palazzo_ , he couldn’t help but notice that there was a large crowd already beginning to gather within the square. There was also the rather ominous sight of a gallows that looked to be newly constructed, set behind a long table with the arms of Firenze sewn carefully into the heavy, brocaded cloth that draped over it. The _Gonfaloniere_ was there, but beside him stood a man that Ezio had never seen before.

 

He was clearly a Spaniard judging by his dress; given what little Ezio could see of his face, the man seemed to possess rather aristocratic features, with an aquiline nose and deep, calculating eyes. Ezio found himself wondering about a great many things, as he and little Maria continued drawing closer to their current destination; foremost among them being just who the Spaniard was, and why there were gallows already constructed.

 

 _Messer_ Uberto _had_ cleared Father and their brothers of the charges against them, hadn’t he?


	152. Uberto Alberti

There was a strange, tight feeling in her chest, whenever her eyes would fall upon the man in the ornate, hooded robe. He looked like a Spaniard, but more than that, he looked dangerous in some way. It wasn’t something she could have explained to anyone who asked – not even Ezio, she didn’t think – but that was the impression that the Spaniard’s manner gave her. Even Uberto seemed wary around him, which only made Maria all the more certain that there was something inherently dangerous about the Spaniard, whoever he turned out to be.

 

However, the look of shame on Uberto’s face – the way he didn’t seem to be able to meet Maria’s own eyes for even the most fleeting of glances – made the tightness around her chest all the more painful.

 

In light of all that, while she wouldn’t have said that she’d been _expecting_ … what happened to Father and two of her three brothers, Maria would have been lying if she’d said it came as anything like a surprise. A terrible blow, yes, and more than anything she wanted to know _why_ Uberto – who had seemed to hold Father in at least _some_ esteem – would do something so terrible. More than anything, that was the question that haunted her, even as she and Ezio retook the rooftops to escape the guards pursuing them.

 

What few were left, after her brother had cut the ones pursuing them down in their tracks.

 

The pair of them were able to make it back to the ground, after what felt like an eternity of fleeing from those guards that had been determined to both kill her brother and capture Maria herself for some reason that she didn’t know if she wished to fully understand. Ezio looked ready to drop, by the time the pair of them were able to take shelter inside a small shack behind one of the warehouses that supplied goods to the city, but it seemed to be grief that weighed so heavily upon him rather than simple fatigue.

 

She fully understood.

 

Muttering soothing words to the last of her brothers as he sobbed into her lap, Maria held onto her own composure with both hands; this was no time to give vent to her feelings, though her heart was breaking for Father and her murdered brothers, and the sight of _Messer_ Uberto’s stricken face would not leave her mind. But she had Ezio to think about, and so Maria buried her own anguish deep enough so that she would be able to support the last of her brothers in the way he needed her to do.

 

The pair of them, knowing that the city watch would be hunting them relentlessly upon the orders of whoever had truly been the one to strike out at their family in such a final and terrible way, concealed themselves within what shelter the shack could offer them until dusk started to approach in earnest. Then, making their way back up onto the rooftops of Firenze – the city where they had grown up; the city that was no longer home – Maria allowed Ezio’s path to guide her own footsteps.

 

Just as she’d expected, the pair of them were indeed making for the _palazzo_ Vespucci once more. Allowing herself to rest, if only for the time that Ezio and Christina spent talking, Maria closed her eyes for just a moment…

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Poor little Maria fell right to sleep before she and Ezio had finished their conversation, clearly having been holding herself together solely for her last brother’s benefit. Ezio had asked that she take care of his littlest sister, while he himself saw to the needs of their poor family. She was happy to be able to help in at least some, small way to ease the suffering that she had seen on Ezio’s face ever since the moment he had returned with the knowledge of how deeply his family had been betrayed by the people of Firenze.

 

Sighing as she settled herself down next to the girl, Christina looked up at the sound of a gentle knock upon her shutters.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

After having lain their murdered family members to rest, spoken to Christina about what the pair of them were going to do, since he could no longer find it in himself to stay in Firenze – if those _bastardi_ who had murdered Father and their brothers would have allowed them to do such a thing in the first place – and her parents would not have approved in the slightest if she were to depart from the city with him. Or if she was to depart from the city at all; Ezio knew that Christina’s father did not quite approve of the… enthusiasm with which he approached his relationship with her.

 

And, there was also the matter of the secrets that little Maria had shared with the pair of them earlier this very day; try as he might not to think about what that meant, Ezio could not avoid the knowledge that their lives would never again be what they were before this single, horrible day.

 

Knowing that Father had been an Assassin, and that the Pazzi – and likely others, since the Pazzi could have hardly managed such a thing on their own – had been Templars helped to explain at least _some_ of the antipathy that Father had felt for them. Only some, because all of the Pazzi he’d chanced to meet – chiefly Vieri, since that _bastardo_ made it all but impossible to _ignore_ him – were horrible enough that he could believe that they were part of something like the Templars. Particularly considering what the Templars seemed to be intent on doing; he could definitely see those Pazzi _bastardi_ trying to take over the world.

 

Still, after having laid Father and their brothers to rest at last, and allowing little Maria to give vent to the grief she’d been pushing aside while the pair of them had been in need of all their wits to flee from the guards Uberto Alberti would doubtless still have sniffing around for them, Ezio knew that it would be the best thing for both of them if they returned as quickly as they could to what remained of their family. The one problem with that, however, was that – while he and Annetta _had_ been rather close, considering their respective positions – he only knew the general area of her sister’s house.

 

He’d never been to visit Paola at her house; it wasn’t something he’d had any cause to regret before, but under the circumstances…

 

Ezio sighed, forcing his mind back to the matter at hand. After speaking to little Maria, he found that she hadn’t been to Paola’s house either, and sighed as they both moved on. He hadn’t been _expecting_ anything different, but he’d honestly been hoping for it; there was nothing for it but to keep moving, however.

 

As he and little Maria climbed back down onto the street, Ezio sighed with relief as he caught sight of Annetta at last. She seemed to be carefully _not_ looking for something. Smiling as much as he could manage at this moment of all moments, Ezio carefully moved closer to the woman. She’d clearly been searching the city for them, and just as clearly she’d been careful not to be seen by those who were probably still searching for them, in turn.

 

“Thank God you’ve returned safely!” Annetta exclaimed, her voice quiet enough that it wouldn’t carry beyond where the three of them were standing. “I’ve been looking everywhere for the two of you!”

 

“I… I couldn’t stop them, Annetta,” he said, all of the anguish that he thought he’d left behind with Christina coming right back as soon as he spoke the first word. “I tried, I swear, but there were so many guards!”

 

“Please, come with me,” Annetta pleaded, offering her hands to the pair of them. “We need to get you both off the streets.”

 

“What of Mother and Claudia?”

 

“They’re safe,” Annetta said, clearly having regained some of the calm that seemed determined to elude Ezio himself. “Come, I’ll take you to them.”

 

“No! It’s too dangerous for us to travel together,” he said, knowing it was true even as he wished that it wasn’t. “Take little Maria with you,” he said, gently pushing his littlest sister into the arms of their nurse. “Then tell me where you intend to go, and I’ll meet you there.”

 

“My sister’s house, just north of the Duomo,” Annetta said, as she and little Maria clasped hands.

 

“ _Fratello,_ do you think you could do a favor for me?”

 

“What is it, _sorellina_?”

 

“When… everything was happening, it seemed as though Uberto was scared of that Spaniard that stood beside him throughout the course of… everything that was going on,” little Maria said, sounding firmer in her convictions than he’d heard from her over the course of this entire, horrible day. And, while it _was_ true that his littlest sister was a rather keen observer of the people around her, Ezio didn’t quite know if she was thinking entirely clearly. “Would you ask him about that for me?”

 

Truly, _he_ didn’t want to believe that one of their family’s old friends would betray them in such a horrible way, either.

 

“I’ll see what I can find, _sorellina_ ,” he said, knowing that she would understand his meaning.

 

The three of them parted swiftly after that, him leaving so that he could – perhaps – draw the wandering eyes of the guards away from the remaining members of his family before they could even think to fall upon them. Taking a more circuitous rout, while still making his way north, Ezio soon found himself standing before the house where Annetta’s sister Paola lived. It was a rather modest place, certainly nothing like his family’s former _palazzo_ , but for all that it seemed rather homely and comfortable.

 

Ezio almost found himself wishing that he could stay for longer than the handful of minutes that it would take to gather the remaining members of his family, but he knew that kind of thing wouldn’t be possible. To say nothing of the fact that his heart would not rest within the city where half of his family was so unjustly murdered, it was a simple fact that they would all be in danger from at least the Pazzi, even if there _were_ no other members of those Templars within the borders of Firenze. And so, steeling himself to do what needed to be done, Ezio made his way into the building at last.

 

His first impression of the interior of the building was that, while from the outside it had seemed like someone’s home, the inside seemed to be a sort of inn. Or else, that’s how it _would_ have appeared, if not for all of the women who were clearly courtesans moving about the floor around him. There was a wide staircase at the left side of the main room, with a rich, deep red carpet in the center, and it was down this staircase that he saw the small, swift form of his littlest sister hurrying.

 

“I’m so glad to see you again, _fratello mio_!”

 

“I’m glad to see you, too, _sorellina_ ,” he said, having braced himself when it had become clear that little Maria had not been about to stop for a small thing like the fact that she’d reached the bottom of the stairs.

 

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, _Messer_ Ezio,” the woman said, smiling as she came to stand before the pair of them. “Little Maria has been eager to tell me anything and everything she can about her beloved brother,” the woman said, smiling benevolently at the pair of them. “To say nothing of how highly Annetta speaks of you.”

 

“I appreciate the kind words, _Madonna_ ,” he said, bowing slightly, but finding himself cut off before he could say more.

 

“Please, call me Paola,” she said.

 

“Thank you for offering your home to my family, Paola.”

 

“It was the least I could do,” she said, the kind smile upon her face not having diminished one bit. “You must be tired. Perhaps-”

 

“No, _grazie_ ,” he said, not wanting to be too abrupt, but knowing just what it was that he had to do; he had done with it quickly. “We can’t stay.”

 

“Why?” Paola asked. “Where are you going?”

 

“To kill Uberto Alberti,” he said, his resolve having grown all the firmer for the time he’d spent among the rooftops of Firenze.

 

“I understand your desire for vengeance, but the _Gonfaloniere_ is a powerful man,” Paola said. “You’re not a killer, Ezio-”

 

“Spare me the lecture,” he cut in, before she could have truly gotten started.

 

“ _Fratello_ , she worked with Father,” little Maria said, large bright eyes serious as she focused her gaze on him for the first time since the pair of them had met up again. “She’s an Assassin, like he was.”

 

“An Assassin?” he echoed, turning to look back once again at the woman who had offered Ezio and the remains of his family shelter within the place that did, indeed, seem to be a home to her.

 

“Yes,” Paola said, the smile on her face becoming wry and rather reflective. “Your father and I, along with others you both are bound to meet if you are so determined to continue along this path as you seem to be, have done much work to free the world from the grip of the Templars. Though never so much as we all might have wished. Still, if you truly desire to walk the path that your father did, even if only for a short time, there are things that you must learn.”

 

And so, over the course of the next several days, Ezio followed in Father’s footsteps; he learned to match his pace to that of Firenze’s milling crowds, so that he might become invisible within them; he learned to take what small amounts of money he needed to sustain himself, without being caught out at such a thing; he learned, also, how to guard himself against those with the same skills he now possessed. He and little Maria – who’s safety he’d initially been worried about, until he learned that the Templars were actively _hunting_ anyone who looked like his littlest sister, and that she would indeed be safer _with_ Assassin training than without – had become competitive enough to draw Paola’s attention, and she clearly found the both of them amusing for it.

 

He was glad to know that the pair of them were learning the skills they would need to survive once they left Firenze behind them, but Ezio couldn’t help wishing that things could have been different.

 

“Now that you have learned to approach the enemy, we need to find you a suitable weapon,” Paola said, her expression one of stern amusement.

 

“What would you have me use?” he asked, unsure about just what it was that Paola was trying to say.

 

“Ah, but you already have the answer,” she said, sounding rather self-satisfied.

 

“Hey! Father’s blade and bracer!” he exclaimed, as Paola held up that very item for him to see. “How did you get them?!”

 

Paola laughed. “By using the same skills I’ve just taught you two.”

 

“She was fast enough that _I_ barely saw her, _fratello_!”

 

“Well, it’s not exactly in working condition,” he said, deciding that it would be in their best interests if he gave his attention to what Paola meant to say to him rather than teasing his littlest sister.

 

“I assume you’re familiar with Leonardo Da Vinci?”

 

“ _Sí_ ,” he responded, all the more curious when he saw the interested expression spreading across Paola’s face. “But how does a painter factor into this?”

 

“He’s far more than that,” Paola said.

 

“Do you mean that he’s an Assassin, too?” he asked, wondering just how far the arms of this secret society that Father had been a part of actually stretched, in the end.

 

“No,” Paola said, laughing softly at the suggestion. “While I’m certain that he would support our cause in a heartbeat, joining up with the Brotherhood is far more of a commitment than any of us can ask of him. Still, if he expresses interest, there’s no real cause to dissuade him,” she continued, smiling more gently. “Just bring him the pieces, and you’ll see.”

 

“ _Grazie_ Paola, for all that you’ve done for us,” he said, bowing as little Maria curtsied as well as she could manage with the small robes that had been made for her.

 

They were a near-match for his own; a fact that didn’t go unnoticed, even as Ezio found himself uncertain how to feel every time he chanced to see them. Knowing that his littlest sister would be able to protect herself from the Templars – to say nothing of anyone else who might attempt to harm her – was one thing, but knowing that his impish littlest sister would soon be learning to _kill_ … It wasn’t a thing he could easily reconcile himself to.

 

Still, it was clearly a thing that would happen whether he approved or not, so Ezio resolved to learn to live with the fact.

 

As he and little Maria made their way over the rooftops of Firenze, following a path that was familiar in a painful sort of way to him in particular, Ezio wondered just what the pair of them would find when they reached Leonardo’s workshop. The man himself seemed to be rather eccentric, even from the little hints he’d been given of the painter’s personality he’d gotten when Leonardo himself had been speaking to Mother what felt like a lifetime ago. So, as much as he tried to guess just what it was that he’d find himself faced with when he and Leonardo Da Vinci saw each other again, Ezio fully expected to be surprised.

 

Climbing back down to street-level, once he’d spotted an alley empty enough that the pair of them would be able to easily blend into the crowds thronging in Firenze, Ezio hugged his littlest sister’s shoulders as the two of them stood back up once again. Joining up with the tail-end of a group of shoppers, he and little Maria blended themselves into the back to conceal themselves from any of the city guard who might have still been on the alert for their presence. He’d no idea of just what was in Uberto Alberti’s twisted mind, but he wasn’t about to make the mistake of underestimating the man.

 

He was either canny or desperate at this point, and both kinds of men were dangerous.

 

Breaking subtly away from the group, he and little Maria made their way over to Leonardo’s workshop. Finding out from one of his servants – or students, Ezio still wasn’t quite sure what to call them – that the painter was indeed present, Ezio followed the man’s directions out to the well-kept yard at the back of the workshop where Leonardo seemed to live just as much as he worked. It almost seemed a repeat of the situation he’d found Paola in, though Leonardo’s quarters were nowhere near as richly decorated.

 

 _Nowhere near as_ neat _, either,_ Ezio reflected with some amusement, looking around at all of the various odds and ends that the painter seemed determined to collect by the cart load.

 

When Ezio and little Maria finally caught up to Leonardo, they found him in the midst of a rather strange activity. There were many places in Firenze where one could buy caged songbirds; people would hang them in their windows so that they would have music in their homes. Whenever they died, those who had purchased the, would simply buy another. Leonardo, for his part, was surrounded by a dozen such cages, and even as he and little Maria watched, the painter released a linnet from its wicker cage and watched with a wistful sort of reverence as it flew off into the sky.

 

“Leonardo?”

 

“Ezio, my friend,” the painter called back, hurrying over to embrace him; then, as the gravity of their situation pressed down once again, Leonardo grew grave. “I hardly expected to see you here, particularly after what you’ve been through. But welcome, all the same. Just bear with me for a moment; this won’t take too long.”

 

“What are you doing?” he asked, after a few moments spent watching as the painter released one bird after another into the sky.

 

“All life is precious,” Leonardo said, looking into the sky for a few moments more, before turning his warm gaze back to Ezio himself. “I can’t bear to see my fellow creatures imprisoned like this, simply because they have fine voices.”

 

“Ah, would you also be planning to fly _with_ them, then?” little Maria asked, a slyly amused expression upon her impish face.

 

Leonardo laughed gaily. “You saw my flying machine, then? I haven’t _quite_ perfected it, but once I do… _Sí_ , I think I _will_ be joining my little friends in the sky.”

 

“A _flying_ machine?” he echoed, not quite knowing if the painter was truly mad enough to think that he himself could do the impossible.

 

“Yes,” Leonardo said, the confidence of his tone not having diminished a single bit in the face of Ezio’s obvious skepticism. “But, I doubt the pair of you came all this way, braving so much danger, just to speak to me of my inventions. So, what can I do for you?”

 

“I need you to repair something of mine,” he said, watching as Leonardo’s eyes lit with interest at the idea; he was starting to understand what Paola had been getting at, when she said that he was more than just a painter.

 

“Of course!” he exclaimed, jovial once more. “Come, this way!”

 

Following along as Leonardo led them into what seemed to be his personal workshop, Ezio felt a stirring of amusement as he heard the man’s soft, annoyed ranting as he cleared a space for himself by the simple expedient of piling the many things atop the many _other_ things that had been taking up the space atop the drafting table he desired to use for this new job of his.

 

“All right, let’s see it!” Leonardo exclaimed at last, having made himself a large enough space for some work, even if only just. Handing over the dagger blade and bracer, along with the vellum page he’d found in the chest alongside it, Ezio watched in amusement as Leonardo’s face lit up. “Fascinating!” he turned the device over and over, looking at it from all angles in the manner that Ezio himself had not had time for when he’d first retrieved it from Father’s hidden room. “I don’t know, Ezio,” he said, something like disappointment suffusing his tone; a stark contrast, after his earlier excitement. “Despite its age, the construction is rather advanced. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I’m afraid there’s not much I can do without the original plans. I’m sorry.”

 

He was just about to take the strange dagger with its bracer back, to perhaps find another person who _would_ be able to make sense out of the strange, intricate mechanisms that the bracer possessed, when Leonardo snatched both bracer and vellum page right out of his grasp.

 

“What are you doing?” he exclaimed, surprised to see a familiar glint in the inventor’s eye.

 

“The contents of this page are encrypted! But, if my theory is correct… Based on these sketches, it- it may very well…!”

 

_~AC: II~_

 

 _It seemed that Leonardo’s mind works quite a bit faster than his mouth,_ Maria reflected, smiling as she watched the exchange between her remaining brother and the inventor that Father’s sister Assassin Paola had sent them to. Naturally, Leonardo was curious about the construction of Father’s hidden blade, but she hadn’t quite been expecting him to be able to not only decode the page of Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad’s Assassin Codex that Father had been keeping with it, but to be able to repair the device, as well.

 

The trick he’d played on her brother was even worth being wrestled gently into submission when she laughed.

 

When the pair of them were able to depart from Leonardo’s workshop, though not without a close call involving the city guard that were clearly _still_ searching for them, Maria allowed herself to relax slightly. Father’s hidden blade would serve the last of her brothers well, considering the fights he was going to face not only as an Assassin in a city where Templars walked freely, but also as the last heir to the Auditore name still in Firenze. Still, the fact that they were planning to leave the city would probably mitigate _that_ particular danger rather a lot.

 

At the moment, however, the pair of them were returning to Paola, so that they could have a bit of food, rest, and also so that Ezio could report his success.

 

Making their way across the rooftops of Firenze once more, far and above any of the guards who might have otherwise found them if they traveled another way, Maria stayed close to her last brother as they continued on. She knew that he was going to ask that she stay with Paola when he inevitably departed to redress the wrongs done to their family by Uberto, a man she and Father had both thought they could trust, but she didn’t quite know what she was going to say in response. Like as not, she was going to agree with him; she didn’t have the strength or size needed to contribute in any real way to any fights that her brother might find himself in, and she didn’t have the skill to make up for such a lack, as yet.

 

Truly, it was in both of their best interests if she stayed behind with Paola and worked to hone what skills she had, as well as developing those that she didn’t yet possess, before she attempted to give her remaining brother aid in any fashion aside from simply being a presence by his side.

 

By the time that the pair of them had returned to Paola’s establishment, Maria had made up her mind. It seemed to come as something of a surprise to Ezio, though he was clearly happy not to have to argue with her about something like that, so the two of them parted amicably. She was pleased with that much, at least.

 

“Paola, will you help me to refine my skills?”

 

“Of course, little Maria,” Father’s sister Assassin – soon to be her own, when Maria herself gained the skills and knowledge to join the Brotherhood at last – said, smiling almost proudly. “I will give you what skills you need, and help you to refine the ones you already have.”

 

“ _Grazie_ , Paola,” she said, smiling widely back.

 

She’d learn what she could, during whatever time she might have had.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Killing Uberto, while it _had_ provided him with a sense of vindication after the unjust murder of his father and brothers, had also left Ezio with more questions than he had answers for. He knew that the Spaniard’s name was Rodrigo Borgia, and that the man was indeed a Templar as he’d come to expect. He also learned, this time from a letter that Alberti had been carrying, that his betrayal had been driven – in the main – by fear of what might happen to _his_ family after he’d been deprived of the means to support them. Knowing _why_ Alberti had turned on Father and the rest of the Auditore family… it gave him quite a few things to think about.

 

Not the least of which was why the former _Gonfaloniere_ hadn’t thought to come to _Father_ with his troubles, instead of a Templar.

 

Still, the past remained just that, and Ezio knew that focusing too much upon such a thing would only leave him unprepared to face whatever else was to come. So, while Ezio _had_ resolved to speak to Paola about the letter he’d found on Uberto’s person – he’d not stoop to petty vengeance upon a man who’d been a friend of his family, even if he _did_ wish that Alberti had possessed the courage and sense to come to Father rather than the Templar Rodrigo Borgia – he was also planning to leave Firenze behind him. There would be no safe places within the city anymore, not after he’d both publicly assassinated Uberto Alberti and announced his own survival to the crowds within Santa Croce.

 

He’d no regret for the actions themselves, but there was no denying that they _had_ made things rather more difficult than they would have been otherwise.


	153. Leaving Firenze

As he made his way back to Paola’s establishment, taking the rooftops once more so as not to be forced to contend with the city guard that were presently out in force, Ezio ruminated upon just where he and the remainder of his family would be able to take shelter. There _was_ a place that they could stay, if they could make it past the net of guards that would inevitably be closing in on them from all sides if they chanced to spot one of them. There would be a greater chance of that happening, as Mother and Claudia were not likely to be able to traverse the rooftops with the same skill that he or little Maria possessed.

 

Sighing as he alighted briefly on a rooftop just across the street from Paola’s establishment, Ezio waited for a few moments as the crowds thinned enough for him to climb down and dart across the wider street in lieu of attempting to leap a gap that was half-again as wide as those he’d able to cross more easily. Making his way to a hidden entrance that Paola had showed to him, both of them knowing that he’d be better off keeping out of sight of those who would be making use of her establishment for their own purposes, Ezio made his way back inside at last.

 

He’d not truly been expecting Paola to be idle during the time he had been away dealing with the matter of Uberto and his revenge upon the man, however seeing Paola engaged in a swordfight with his littlest sister was not a thing that he’d been prepared in the slightest to see. Little Maria caught his eye, smiling wider for a moment, just before returning her attention to Paola as the woman pressed her attack.

 

“You’re doing very well, little Maria, but don’t let yourself be distracted by anything that isn’t another attack,” Paola advised, her tone sounding pleased, but also carrying a hint of admonishment, as well. “Still, I think it best that we both take a break, _sí_?”

 

“ _Sí_ , Paola. _Grazie_ ,” little Maria said, bowing to the woman with a small smile on her impish face.

 

When she rushed to embrace him about the middle, Ezio felt a bit better about things, though he knew that his expression would still give him away once his littlest sister actually stepped back far enough to _look_ at him.

 

“I think it’s best I leave Firenze,” he said, deciding to put aside the matter of what he’d just seen; if little Maria wanted to learn to fight with a sword, then that was probably for the best.

 

God knew, _more_ of his remaining family might very well be forced to learn those same skills.

 

“Where will you go?” Paola asked.

 

“My uncle, Mario, owns a villa near Monteriggioni,” he said.

 

“You’re still a wanted man, Ezio,” Paola said, her tone suggesting that she knew that he understood such a thing already, but wished to remind him, all the same. “I’ve seen posters all across the district, and town orators have begun to speak against you.”

 

“What would you have me do, Paola?” he asked, feeling helpless as he contemplated the situation that now stood before him.

 

“Wait here,” she said, a hand on his right shoulder. “I’ll have my girls tear down the posters, and orators can be bribed to speak of other things. I’ll also have travel papers drawn up for the four of you, as well.”

 

“ _Grazie_ , Paola,” he said, bowing deeply to her.

 

“Make yourself comfortable, Ezio,” Paola said, smiling gently at him “It will be some time before all of this is finished.”

 

“Of course,” he said, waiting for the few moments it took her to make her way out of the room, then turning to his littlest sister with a smile. “So, little Maria,” he grinned, taking up another blunted training saber from the rack. “Would you like another sparring partner?”

 

Little Maria’s impish grin spread right across the width of her face.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Their journey out of what had once been the safety of Firenze was, naturally, punctuated by Claudia asking Ezio if they might ever by able to return to the place where their family had stayed for so long. Personally, Maria doubted it, but she wasn’t about to say anything so terribly insensitive to her grieving older sister. They all had enough grief between them without anyone to add to it.

 

Once the four of them had made it outside the towering walls of Firenze once more, Maria allowed herself to relax from the tensed state of awareness she’d been maintaining while she and her remaining family were still under the gaze of those who might still have been their enemies. Yes, there _was_ some chance that Lorenzo de’ Medici would be able to rein in the guards since he’d returned, but she wasn’t about to rely on something so uncertain to shelter the remains of her family. Best they all kept moving.

 

It was some time later, the sun having fallen almost to the horizon, when they were able to take shelter within the walls of an abandoned barn that was thankfully not _too_ damaged by the passage of time or the depredations of small animals.

 

As they all settled down upon the pile of hay that she, Claudia, and Ezio had all helped to move towards the back of the barn, Maria felt Mother’s arms wrapping firmly around her waist, pulling her close as the four of them closed their eyes for the night. Sighing softly into the gathering darkness, Maria wrapped her arms around Mother’s right where it had draped over her. Best they all got as much sleep as they could, they’d be moving again tomorrow.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

After he’d awakened and then gotten the rest of his family up for the morning, Ezio found himself feeling slightly better about their current situation than he once had. Yes, it was true that he hadn’t managed to save Father or either of their brothers from being hanged, but he _had_ avenged their deaths, taken up what had clearly been Father’s mantle, and made contact with one of Father’s allies from the past. It didn’t _truly_ balance, in the end, but it was a place to stand.

 

It was at least a start; the list of names he’d taken from Uberto Alberti’s corpse would give him the means to finish.

 

It was some time later, judging by the position of the sun in the sky, when Ezio found himself reminded of the fact that – even outside the walls of Firenze – he still had enemies in the world. It was Vieri, of course, the little shit clearly unable to let their grievances rest. For his part, Ezio was simply glad to have an uncomplicated fight on his hands. Knowing that there was little more at stake here than his own pride – Vieri’s threats were as stupid as he was, and little Maria would feed him his own cock if he tried anything – made things quite a bit simpler.

 

The hail of what looked like thrown knives made things almost _easy_.

 

“Here, use this,” the large, broad figure who’d just arrived amid yet another group of mercenaries called, tossing him a sword; Ezio thought he recognized the man, but the pair of them could speak of such matters later.

 

With the extra fighters added to their side, it was, naturally, much simpler to drive Vieri and his dogs from the impromptu battlefield.

 

“You have my thanks,” he said, offering the weapon he’d used back to the man who’d so unceremoniously presented it to him.

 

“Keep the sword, Ezio.”

 

Before he could ask just who the other man was, Ezio saw little Maria rushing past him.

 

“Uncle Mario! It’s _so_ good to see you again!” she called happily, embracing the man around the waist with a happy smile on her face.

 

“Uncle Mario?” he echoed, not quite sure what to make of their present circumstances.

 

“It’s been too long, _nipote_!” Uncle Mario said, before the pair of them shared a fond, familial embrace. “I heard about what happened in Firenze,” their uncle said, sobering quickly. “Terrible. Come, let’s get you all away from here.”

 

Falling into step with Uncle Mario, Ezio found himself chivvied to the side of the road, just as he heard the sound of a carriage pulling up to their group. Uncle Mario had clearly sent for it some time ago – perhaps even during the battle itself, since Vieri’s dogs weren’t exactly what anyone would call a _challenge_ – and as the five of them all piled inside, Ezio found himself called on to continue his conversation about what had happened to Father and his brothers.

 

He also found himself hearing of the villa, Monteriggioni, and receiving his uncle’s offer of shelter.


	154. The Villa Auditore

“I’m grateful for your kindness, Uncle Mario,” he said, beginning to suspect what his uncle had in mind, but not quite certain just what his own answer would end up being, in the end. “But, I was planning to head farther afield. Your home, while it _is_ a beautiful place, wouldn’t be as safe as I’d wish.”

 

“Ezio, _none_ of us will be safe, if the Pazzi are allowed to continue their scheming,” Uncle Mario said. “Aside from _that_ , I thought you’d come here to continue your father’s work.”

 

“Would that be Father’s work as a banker, or his work as an Assassin?” Ezio asked, almost certain at this point what Uncle Mario was going to say.

 

“It’s good that he told you, _nipote_ ,” Uncle Mario said, smiling gently, though his expression carried a hint of sadness, as well.

 

“Honestly, Uncle, I found out from little Maria,” he paused, sighing. “And, I’m still not sure how I feel about all of… this.”

 

“Giovanni never told you?” Uncle Mario echoed, sounding taken aback at the prospect.

 

“No,” Ezio shook his head. “What’s more, this whole tale – Assassins, Templars, and the unknowing world caught in the middle – sounds like something out of fantasy.”

 

“That, Ezio, is how the Templars are able to perform any number of their depraved acts,” Uncle Mario said, what mirth that had been present on his face swiftly departing. “Do not make the mistake of dismissing this struggle of ours, _nipote_. We fight for the freedom of the world, so that the people might learn to become better than they are.”

 

“I don’t know if I could find it in me to be so selfless, Uncle,” he said, swallowing back a sigh; at the moment, Ezio doubted that he could put even a _single_ person he didn’t know above the health, safety, and happiness of his three remaining immediate family members.

 

“Then, I think you’ll find what I’m about to say of particular interest, _nipote_ ,” Uncle Mario said soberly, though not without a hint of black amusement on his weathered face.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“That list of names you took from Alberti? On it are the names of the men responsible for the deaths of Giovanni and your brothers,” Uncle Mario said; Ezio felt something deep within him tighten at the pronouncement. “And, all of them – each and every one – are Templars. The Pazzi in particular have been enthusiastic supporters of the Order.”

 

Hissing between his teeth, knowing that Uncle Mario had him – he couldn’t, after all, just let those who had done such terrible things escape justice – Ezio turned back to see a solemn expression on his uncle’s face. Uncle Mario clearly didn’t want to do what he was doing, any more than Ezio wished to find himself facing such a stark choice as he was being given. Still, it seemed as though there was nothing for it; and if he truly was to become an Assassin, he would clearly need to hone his craft.

 

“See that Mother and Claudia are taken care of, will you?” he asked, already feeling the heavy weight of the new responsibilities that came alongside his choice.

 

“I will, _nipote_ ,” Uncle Mario said, as the pair of them stood once again. “I will also see that you are properly outfitted for our work, though I’m afraid I can only offer you a _discount_ at the shops.”

 

Smiling softly for the attempt at humor from their uncle, Ezio followed the older man to the shops, little Maria falling into step with them. It’d become clear, given Vieri’s reactions to her, that the Pazzi – at least, if not these Templars that he’d begun hearing about – knew at least _something_ about his littlest sister, and so Ezio was determined to see that little Maria possessed the means to defend herself, in the unfortunate event that he found himself far from her side. If this work of Father’s was going to take him as far afield as it seemed, he wanted at least _some_ assurance of his littlest sister’s safety.

 

Mother and Claudia were being given shelter in a nearby convent, true, but Ezio had no real way of knowing just how the nuns present would react to little Maria’s odd coloring; Uncle Mario hadn’t said anything much on the matter, but for his part the older man _did_ seem pleased with Ezio’s reasoning.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Having both his niece and nephew with him, in spite of the terrible circumstances which had brought them back to Monteriggioni, was something of a comfort. No matter what some of the others said, the safest place for an Assassin was always where his Brothers and Sisters could watch his back. Such a thing had only been proven all the more true by the sad fate that had befallen his poor brother; if Giovanni had had more Assassins to call upon than just his half-trained children, he might very well have been able to escape from the Pazzi’s trap.

 

Still, there was nothing Mario himself could do about such a thing; Giovanni had chosen his path, and now it was left to those who had survived him to carry on the Brotherhood’s good work in his absence.

 

Ezio and little Maria were, naturally, taking to their training like ducks to water; a thing Mario was glad for, since it meant that they would be far better protected against the Pazzi and their Templar allies than they would have been without the skills that he and Orazio were both working to impart to them. It also meant that, given the page of Altaïr Ibn La’Ahad’s Assassin Codex that had been hidden alongside Giovanni’s Hidden Blade, he could also tell Ezio of the _other_ work that his father had been doing for the Brotherhood.

 

There were many new concepts that he wished to introduce his niece and nephew to, but every teaching needed a solid grounding in reality, else it would all collapse into nonsense.

 

After two weeks of observing Ezio and little Maria as they trained – presently, the pair of them were sparring each other; Ezio’s height and reach, set against little Maria’s speed and agility – Mario knew that they were as ready as he could ask, given the time they had for this next task.

 

“ _Nipoti_ , come! I’ve something to say that needs the both of you present,” he called, once the pair of them had disengaged in order to study the others’ movements and positioning.

 

Making his way out of the courtyard, the Assassin-garbed forms of his niece and nephew following along behind him, Mario smiled softly as he heard the soft-voiced discussion and playful banter going on behind him. It seemed that he was not the only one, now, who saw the value in the training they were being asked to undergo.

 

“You’ve both done very well, _nipoti_ ,” he said, once he heard a lull in their conversation. “I’m very proud of the both of you.”

 

“ _Grazie,_ uncle,” Ezio said, though he still seemed slightly confused about just what it was that the three of them were going to be doing.

 

“Do you know why I’ve been driving your training so relentlessly, _nipoti_?”

 

“ _Sí_ , Uncle: you’re planning to take over _Italia_ ,” little Maria said, and he turned back to see the wide, teasing smile that he knew would be on her face.

 

“I am not planning to take over _anything_ , you wicked little imp,” he said, grinning as he pinched the silly girl’s cheeks and made her squeal with delighted laughter. “The truth is, Vieri de’ Pazzi has been harassing us ever since you four arrived,” he continued, releasing little Maria and straightening up as he, Ezio, and the girl herself all continued on their way to the barracks. “It’s only to be expected, considering his heritage.”

 

“ _Sí_ ,” Ezio muttered, looking briefly to the younger of his two sisters. “You told me that the Pazzi were Templars.”


	155. Assassino e Assassina

“Indeed, alongside the Barbarigo and the Borgia,” he said, leading Ezio and little Maria down across the grounds and to the stables.

 

“The Barbarigo are a part of this, too?”

 

“ _Sí_ , they are,” he said, nodding as their trio passed under the archways and into the stables, where his mercenaries – alongside a few Assassins-in-training, like Ezio and little Maria themselves – were girding themselves for battle.

 

“We’ve prepared horses and weapons for your _nipoti_ , _Messer_ ,” the head of the stables, a kindly man by the name of Marco Grigori, said.

 

“ _Grazie, amico_ ,” he said, giving the man a formal embrace, before turning back to Ezio and little Maria where they stood. “Both of you, saddle up and prepare for battle; we ride for San Gimignano tonight. Vieri de’ Pazzi’s threats, childish as they may sound, can hardly be ignored when he stands in possession of a garrison and enough soldiers to lay siege to the very walls of our home. Come, you’ll ride just behind me, at the head of our formation. You’ll both have protection, as well as a good view of the proceedings, from there.”

 

“ _Va bene,_ Uncle,” Ezio said, though there was still the slightest hint of unease when he spoke; even before his nephew looked to little Maria with concern, he knew the cause of it. “I’ll do what I can.”

 

Their journey to Tuscany was as short as could be asked, given the means they were using to travel, and when their group had drawn close to the south gates of San Gimignano, Mario directed some of his mercenaries to distract the guards while Ezio – little Maria was still a bit _too_ small for that kind of work – made his way over the wall and found a way to open them from the inside.

 

“What do you want me to do, Uncle?”

 

“Well, you never learned to throw knives from horseback, did you?” he asked, smiling gently at the grin that spread across his adorable niece’s face.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

As he moved across the rooftops, silent and stealthy as his training had made him, Ezio found himself reflecting – during those times when his attention _hadn’t_ been absorbed by aiming to send another of Uncle Mario’s throwing-knives plunging into the archers that had been arrayed along the inside of San Gimignano’s walls – upon the shadows he would chance to cast when the moonlight struck him at just the right angle. The hooded robe that he wore gave his silhouette the look of some great bird of prey. Ezio didn’t quite know if there was a type of eagle that woke at night, but that was what his shadow reminded him of, those few times he chanced to see it.

 

Narrowing his eyes as the last archer in his section fell, a throwing dagger embedded in his throat, Ezio breathed more easily as he clambered down from the wall he’d been crouching atop. Making his way over to the lever-and-pulley system that would open the gates for Uncle Mario and his men, Ezio proceeded to do just that, allowing their forces – with Uncle Mario and little Maria at the head of the group – to make their way into the city on foot; their horses having been hitched fast outside.

 

“Well done, Ezio,” Uncle Mario said, as he and little Maria stopped beside him, letting the mercenaries break around them like river water flowing around a rock. “The men and I will deal with the main force. You and little Maria just see to it that none of the guards or remaining archers give us any trouble, _capito_? That should give me all the time I need to find and silence Vieri.”

 

“ _Sí_ , Uncle,” he said, alongside little Maria, as the pair of them spilt off from Uncle Mario and melted back into the night. “We won’t let you down,” he continued, speaking on his own as little Maria stifled a laugh.

 

It _was_ always amusing, when the pair of them chanced to find themselves speaking as one, Ezio reflected.

 

Scaling the building closest to where they’d been standing, he paused a moment to allow little Maria to catch up, before moving across the rooftops one again. The pair of them were quite able to dispatch the rest of the archers who had been standing sentry in balconies and at the edges of low rooflines, but Ezio soon found that he’d run out of daggers, and so he made his way back down. He’d spoken briefly to the littlest of his sisters on the subject, before it had become more than a minor concern, and the pair of them had eventually come to the conclusion that – in the absence of a way to strike out at their enemies – having another set of eyes on the rooftops wasn’t worth the risk.

 

The pair of them had met up with a cell of Uncle Mario’s mercenaries, and he found – to his surprise, mild as it was, considering their relationship and the man’s feelings for him – that Uncle Mario had given him the command of the men now surrounding him and his littlest sister.

 

“Well then, I suppose we’d better get back to work,” he said, falling into the role that had been given.

 

“Ezio!” Orazio shouted as he ran over, looking haggard and somewhat worse for wear, though not grossly injured by any stretch. “Your uncle has been pinned down in the courtyard! Hurry! We need your help!”

 

“Then you shall have it,” he decided, quickly marshalling his forces and making for San Gimignano’s large central courtyard.

 

Finding their uncle in just the kind of mess that Orazio’s tone had suggested they would, Ezio threw himself into the fracas, even as he ordered a pair of the men Uncle Mario had lent to him to look after little Maria.

 

“Ah, _nipote_!” the man himself called, once the crush of battle had brought them closer together. “There you are! It seems my plan has hit a little snag. Vieri’s men ambushed us, and now we’ve got our hands full. My brothers and I will deal with these guards. I want you to go ahead; get your sister to safety, and then root out that snake! Find Vieri; see that justice is served.”

 

“ _Va bene_ , Uncle,” he said, waving briefly to the men who had so generously taken little Maria under their wings.

 

They understood him without the need of words, and so he and his littlest sister were able to begin making their way back up to the rooftops once more. From such a high vantagepoint, it would not only be much simpler to spot anyone else who might try to hinder their progress, but also to find a safe place for little Maria to take shelter while he came to grips with Vieri. Breathing a bit more easily as he made his way across the rooftops beneath his feet, Ezio turned to look back at little Maria.

 

She seemed to be handling all this with good-natured aplomb, though it was still clear that she was a bit off-balance from the speed of the proceedings; they had that in common, at least.

 

“When I find Vieri, I want you to stay behind while I deal with him,” he said, as the pair of them came within sight of the tower where Vieri would likely retreat when he realized that his thugs were no match for Uncle Mario’s mercenaries.

 

“ _Sí, fratello_. I’ll stay on one of the rooftops,” little Maria said, smiling gently up at him. “None of these oversized brutes seem to be able to move as well as we do.”

 

 _That’s certainly true,_ he mused, feeling more settled with the knowledge that his littlest sister – while she would still be in _some_ danger, considering where they both were at the moment – would at least be somewhat protected from whatever was to come when he moved to confront Vieri. Offering his littlest sister a gentle, one-armed embrace as the pair of them alighted briefly on a rooftop bordering the walls of the fortress Vieri had been cowering inside, Ezio carefully positioned himself so that he would be able to oversee anything that happened in the vicinity of the fortress.

 

More specifically, so that he would be in a position to _overhear_ the meeting currently taking place between Vieri, his _bastardo_ father, and Rodrigo Borgia; Borgia seemed a more dangerous man than any of the other Templars that seemed to have gathered around him. Jacopo, a man that he’d only heard of before this night, seemed an weary and retiring sort, so Ezio thought it only fitting that he had been given the task of calming people, rather than riling them up, as seemed to be Francesco’s job. Vieri, of course, was clearly as much of a high-strung idiot as he’d ever been.

 

However, the coldness in Rodrigo’s tone and manner gave even Ezio a brief chill; hearing him speak of little Maria, however…


	156. Vieri de’ Pazzi

Well, it seemed that there were, indeed, more than just his littlest sister who shared her coloring, and the Templars seemed to have an interest in every one of them. And so, since it had clearly been the Templars who had been the main force behind the cruel murder of Father and their brothers, Ezio made up his mind that he would do everything he could, in order to see that none of the plans that Rodrigo Borgia and his Templars ever succeeded. He resolved to give everything he could to the cause of the Assassins.

 

With a last, gentle embrace from little Maria, Ezio leaped over the remaining pair of rooftops that had separated him from the perimeter wall of Vieri’s no-doubt stolen fortress, and made his way along the top of said wall until he had reached a wide, stout, sturdy tower. The gray brickwork was even more dull under the light of the half-moon shining down on them, but Ezio’s eyes had long since adapted to the darkness. Still, it appeared that the same held true for Vieri.

 

After he’d dealt with the little _bastardo’s_ two guards, Ezio _had_ almost been expecting him to run away – fleeing like the coward he’d so clearly proven himself to be on every other occasion they’d chanced to meet in combat – but, it was clear that the presence of Rodrigo Borgia, however long the Spaniard had actually stayed with them, bolstered what little bravado Vieri had. Still, it wasn’t _bravado_ that won fights, in the end.

 

As he and Vieri came to grips at last, Ezio felt a surge of anger – banked for so long by Paola’s kindness, and the presence of all those he still cared about – rush through him like fire. Here before him, was one of those who had been responsible – even if in the most indirect way – for the deaths of Father, Federico, and little Petruccio, for no better reason than greed, selfishness, and what was clearly a hunger for power. It was one of the most disgusting, deplorable things that Ezio had ever found himself confronted with; all the more reason to hate the Templars, truly.

 

And, since he had a Templar before him, Ezio was hardly going to show Vieri any more mercy than the _bastardo_ would have shown him, had their positions been reversed, somehow.

 

Managing to land what was clearly a killing blow upon Vieri, Ezio watched with a cold sort of satisfaction as a look of resignation spread across his face. However, the amusement lingering in Vieri’s eyes didn’t please him in the slightest.

 

“What are you and your allies planning?!” he demanded, yanking Vieri upwards rather than kneeling at his side like some kind of mourner. “Is this what my father discovered?! Is _this_ why he was killed?!”

 

“I’m sorry,” Vieri mocked, insolent to the end. “Were you… hoping for a confession?”

 

Vieri died with that same, mocking smile upon his face.

 

“Piece of shit!” Ezio snarled. “I only wish you’d suffered more! You met the fate you deserved! I hope you rot in the street like a dead crow!”

 

“Enough, Ezio!” Uncle Mario’s voice, sharp and biting, brought him back to his senses. “Show some respect.”

 

“Respect?” he echoed, incredulous. “After all that’s happened?! Do you think he would have shown either of _us_ such kindness? Or little Maria, if his dogs had lived to find her?”

 

“You are not Vieri,” Uncle Mario said, his stern calm helping Ezio to settle his mind, even if only a bit. “Do not become him.” Watching for a long moment, as his uncle gave Vieri last rites, Ezio forced the scene from his mind to focus on more important matters. “Take this, read it when you have the time.”

 

“ _Sí_ , Uncle,” he said, taking the folded parchment Uncle Mario handed to him.

 

“Come, our work here is finished,” Uncle Mario said, his tone weary and pleased at once. “We should return to the villa.”

 

“Of course,” he said, nodding even as he set off to find little Maria, so that the pair of them could make their way out of the city together.

 

He’d look over the letter Vieri was carrying some other time; it couldn’t have been _that_ important, to be foisted off on a brute like him.


	157. Homeward once more

When she saw Ezio, leaping back over the rooftops to meet with her, Maria smiled and waved to him, beckoning the last of her brothers closer so that the pair of them might finally begin making their way back to Monteriggioni. Back to where they could send a message to where Mother and Claudia were staying, so that they would be able to check up on how the both of them were doing. And also, so that she and Ezio would be able to have a meal before the pair of them went to bed for the night.

She’d done what she could, with the few daggers that had been left to her when she and Ezio had parted company so that he could deal with Vieri at last, and was glad that her last brother was presently with her, as the pair of them made their way out of San Gimignano and met up with Uncle Mario and his mercenary forces so that they could all make their way out of the fortress together.

Once they had all made it back to the villa itself, she and Ezio had supper, and then bid Uncle Mario good night before the both of them ultimately settled down to sleep; for her part, Maria was just glad to be done with the whole thing.

~AC: II~

Waking up before sunrise the next morning, Ezio hurried over to the desk that Uncle Mario had given him when he’d set Ezio up within the room he’d chosen for himself, once it had become clear that he and little Maria were going to be staying in Monteriggioni together. Settling himself down, Ezio began mentally composing the letter he would write. Wondering for a long moment, just what kind of matters he should tell the two of them about, Ezio decided that he wouldn’t mention the fact that he and little Maria were training to kill the men who had been the ultimate architects of their suffering.

He didn’t know if Mother had been aware of the existence of the Templars as a whole, given that Father had been an Assassin himself, but he didn’t wish to trouble her with what was ultimately his fight.

Once he’d finished with the letter he was writing, Ezio yawned deeply as he made his way over to his dresser and began preparing for the day that he was going to be facing all too soon. There were a lot of things that he would have to do, given what he and little Maria were training for, and Ezio knew that it was best that he get started as soon as possible. That was what Uncle Mario would say, anyway.

Sending his letter off with one of Uncle Mario’s couriers, Ezio made his way out to the courtyard again. Uncle Mario would be wanting the both of them out there as quick as possible, since he’d made it clear that the both of them were going to need to train as hard as they could, if they were going to have any hope of taking the fight to the Templars. Much as he hadn’t liked the idea, Ezio knew that he couldn’t count on all of his opponents being as feeble as Vieri had ultimately proven himself to be.

Still, the thought of the long road that he and little Maria had yet to walk wasn’t truly a comforting one; they would be together on it, yes, but Ezio still couldn’t help his idle wish that none of them had needed to start down it in the first place.

It was a week later, almost to the day, when Ezio found that Claudia had made her way back to the villa, carrying a bundle of letters. There were three of them, one for him, one for little Maria, and one for Uncle Mario.

“Claudia,” he said, pausing for a moment to embrace his younger sister and lay a kiss on both of her cheeks, before turning his attention back to other matters. “I thought you and Mother were going to stay at the convent until she recovered.”

“I was,” his younger sister said, her expression one of just barely restrained discontent. “But, it was so… peaceful there. I mean, I know it will be good for Mother, being in a place like that…”

“But you found that it wasn’t good for you, sorellina?” he prompted, smiling as Claudia trailed off.

“Just that,” she said, with a sharp nod and a sharper grin.

“Well, far be it from me to tell you how to live your life,” he said, grinning back at his younger sister as the pair of them parted company.

It was kind of nice, having Claudia there with him, and the fact that little Maria had not left his side – even if he still wasn’t sure how to feel about his littlest sister training to be an Assassin at times – gave Ezio a renewed sense of hope, and from that he was able to motivate himself to begin moving forward faster with his training. It was some days later, when he found himself called back to Uncle Mario’s study, alongside little Maria. The first thing their uncle told them was that he was pleased with the speed that they were progressing with their training.

The next was to inform them of the state of San Gimignano, held now under the steady hand of an old comrade of his by the name of Roberto, was pursuing the last few pockets of Pazzi resistance within the fortress city. Ezio had been pleased to hear it, but it seemed that such was not the ultimate reason that he and little Maria had been called to Uncle Mario’s study on this particular morning. No, instead they were being given further information concerning Rodrigo Borgia, the Grand Master of the Templars in Italia.

Ezio already hated the man, for what he had done to Father and his and little Maria’s brothers, but knowing how many allies the man had could only aid him in his future endeavors.


	158. A mother’s wish

Once their meeting had concluded, Maria returned to her room; to prepare for her next rounds of training, yes, but also to think about the letter that Mother had sent to her in particular. It seemed that, even as the trauma that she had faced at the hands of those Pazzi _bastardi_ kept her from speaking, Mother _had_ recovered enough that she was able to write. It also seemed that she _had_ known about Father’s work for the Brotherhood, though the older woman hadn’t spoken of it where Maria herself could hear her.

 

It was something Maria had often found herself wondering about, whether she had been the only one of her family to be aware of the other things that Father had done – both for Firenze, and for Italia as a whole – but those kinds of questions wouldn’t do anyone any good if she asked them now, so Maria put them out of her mind.

 

Laughing softly as she recalled the look on Claudia’s face when Uncle told her that, if she truly wished to stay at the villa with the rest of them, she was going to do at least _some_ work, Maria hummed a soft, tuneless melody as she dressed in the Assassin robes that Uncle had ordered made for her just a day after he had received the letter that Mother had written for _him_. Once she had finished, the ensemble rather more simple than even her own clothes to put on and take off, Maria made her way back to Uncle Mario’s study, just as she’d been asked to do.

 

Once she and Ezio met up again, they embraced and kissed each other on both cheeks, before settling down to hear just what it was that Uncle Mario wished to speak to them about on _this_ particular morning.

 

“I’m glad the pair of you have been taking to your training so well, _nipoti_ ,” Uncle Mario said, smiling widely, though there was still a wistful cast to his expression. “I am certain that your father would have been proud of you both.”

 

“ _Grazie_ , uncle,” the pair of them said, turning sly, sidelong smiles upon each other when it became clear that they had both spoken at once.

 

“However, now that I have helped you to refine your skills, it is up to you to decide what you will do with them. Where do you intend to go next?”

 

“We’ll return to Firenze,” Ezio said, her last brother’s grim determination settling over him like a shroud once more. “Francesco de’ Pazzi will share the fate of his son.”

 

“ _Sí_ , and so will all of the other Templars on Father’s list of names,” she said, nodding. “But, Francesco first; he’s no doubt causing all kinds of trouble in the city. Plotting against the Medici, not to mention whatever _other_ business a Templar like him would have there.”


	159. The Codex and the Templars

“Well, I can see that you both have this well in hand, _nipoti_ ,” Uncle said, grinning widely. “That’s good to know. However, there is also something that I would like you to see. Come,” he said, leading them to the back wall of his study. It was something that Maria had noticed, in passing, every time that she and Ezio had been called to meet with Uncle in this very place, and each of those times Maria had told herself to wait; told herself that, when the time came, Uncle Mario would tell them all about what they were seeing. “Well? Does this look familiar?”

 

“Other Codex pages?” Ezio muttered, only the slight lilt at the end giving away the fact that he had been _asking_ rather than _telling_.

 

“ _Sí_. Your father managed to find and translate a few of them, before he…”

 

“Here,” Ezio said, handing over the page that had been stored with Father’s old robes.

 

“This is not your father’s work,” Uncle Mario said, not sounding disapproving so much as confused; Maria wondered if Ezio was as pleased to be able to surprise their seemingly all-knowing uncle as she was. “Someone else has translated it.”

 

“Leonardo da’ Vinci. A friend,” Ezio said, folding his arms with a distinct air of satisfaction.

 

“Do you see the way the words cross from one page to the next?” Uncle Mario asked, gesturing to the wall of pages – with many, many more spaces than pages currently on it – with a wide sweep of his arm.

 

“There is something underneath it all,” Ezio said, stepping closer even as Maria made room for him; her eyes were drawn more to the pictures that stood out amidst all of the elegant, clearly Arabic writing. Whoever had written this codex, whatever their other merits, clearly had the skill of an expert draftsman, and the eye of a master artist. “Some kind of map. Where is it supposed to lead?”

 

“Your father and I managed to make out bits of a prophecy, scattered across these pages,” Uncle Mario said, eyes narrowing in thought. “It was written by an Assassin, like us. Who, long ago, held a ‘Piece of Eden’. His name was Altaïr. He spoke of something powerful, and ancient, hidden beneath the land,” Uncle Mario chuckled, though he didn’t sound altogether pleased. “He also spoke of his Apprentice, a man with the same coloring as little Maria, who went by the name of Alnesr.”

 

“What?” she couldn’t help but exclaim, surprised to have been called upon so directly during what had simply seemed to be a bit of a history lesson.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

“Indeed,” Mario said calmly, even as he found himself faced with the clear expressions of disbelief upon the young faces of his niece and nephew. “I suppose Giovanni wished to spare you some anguish by letting you grow up a bit before you heard this, but where we found you… it was not _any_ place for a child.”

 

As he told them of the warehouse where he, Giovanni, and some of their brother and sister Assassins who had been able to come out to such a remote location on the kind of short notice they had been forced to operate under, Mario knew that – even as he spoke – he himself was also striving to protect what little innocence a young Assassin could lay claim to in the world they lived in. He’d not mentioned the back room that he and Paola had found, the one where the corpses of the children whose lives had been stolen by the Templars before they had had much of a chance to begin living them had been stored, before they were thrown out like so much refuse. Abusing children like that, Treasure Guardians or not, wasn’t a thing that Mario was willing to forgive.

 

Still, it _was_ something only a Templar could find it in themselves to take part in.

 

Sighing as he forced his thoughts back to the present, Mario found that the expected shock and fury were plainly visible upon the faces of his niece and nephew. “And, that was where we found you, little Maria,” he said, looking at the face of the strong, healthy, usually happy girl who his brother had raised, to keep himself from dwelling too much upon those other, poor, nameless children who the Templars had used as little more than cattle.

 

“ _Porco demonio_!” Ezio snarled, fists clenching at his sides with the sheer force of the rage plainly displayed on his face.

 

“ _Sí_ , but don’t allow your anger to make you careless, _nipote_ ,” he said, knowing that such had been one of the risks he had been running, when he told the pair of them the truth of how little Maria had come to join his brother’s family alongside their other children. “Depraved as they are, the Templars are still very dangerous.”

 

“I understand, Uncle,” Ezio said, his expression clearing, enough that it no longer seemed that he was holding onto his composure with both hands. “As for the rest of the Codex, I’ll take the page I found on Vieri’s corpse to Leonardo.”

 

“Good,” he said, his smile likely still tinged by the grim atmosphere that had settled over the room after he’d spoken of little Maria’s tragic, early circumstances. “Once you have it translated, bring that page and any others you might find back here, and we’ll add them to the wall.”

 

“Uncle?” the small, plaintive voice of his niece – who was usually not either of those things – called his attention her way again.

 

“What is it, little Maria?”

 

“ _Grazie_ ,” she said, seeming to have regained at least some of her spirit. “It wasn’t a happy story, but still… I suppose it’s good to know where I came from, at least.”

 

“Of course,” he said, nodding as he watched the light steadily returning to his niece’s face and eyes. “All of that business aside, there’s something else that I would like to show the pair of you.”

 

“What is it, Uncle?” Ezio asked, as the three of them turned away from the wall that held the pages of the Assassin Codex – he knew that there was a second Codex that existed, since Altaïr had written about such a thing, even if only in the most oblique of terms, but he didn’t know precisely _where_ such a thing could be found – that he, Giovanni, and now Ezio had all found and decoded, making their way back towards the center of his study.


	160. The tombs and the treasure

“Come along and I’ll show you, _nipoti_ ,” he said, leading the pair of them over to the wall-sized bookshelf that stood at the far right side of his study.

 

Pressing a hidden catch on the right side of the middle shelf, Mario smiled as the expressions of awe and amazement that spread across the still-young faces of his niece and nephew as the entire right side of the bookshelf split apart and away from the left, sliding easily and almost silently back into a recessed portion of the wall, just behind the left side of that selfsame shelf. Behind it, revealed for the first time since he’d brought Ezio and little Maria to his villa, was the plain, simple staircase that would lead the three of them down into the Sanctuary that their ancestors had built and maintained for the whole of Monteriggioni’s long and storied existence.

 

“This is the Sanctuary,” he said, once the three of them had all finished their journey down the winding staircase, and made their may at last into the large, underground room at the end of it. “It was built by my great-grandfather, to honor the memory of the Assassin Brotherhood, and to protect its secrets. Look around,” he said, directing the eyes of the youngest of his Brother and Sister Assassins to the seven marble statues – each of them carved from only the finest stone – that had been spaced evenly around the circular vault. “These are the Assassins who guarded the freedom of humanity when it was most threatened. And, this is the armor of Altaïr,” he continued, stepping up before the statue of the one who had not only discovered the existence of the Treasure Guardians – taking them in before those who would seek to harm them out of ignorance could strike at them, or else the Templars could capture them – and transformed the Assassins into what the Brotherhood had become in the days since the Third Crusade, but had also worked until the end of his life to bring the Brotherhood new ways of operating, and to create new tools and means to aid them in their struggle. “Little is ultimately known of Altaïr’s life, though it is rumored that the man’s Apprentice compiled a Codex of his own. But, his armor is light and very strong. I’d give it to you, Ezio, since it’s made for a man your size, but I don’t know how to retrieve it,” he sighed softly. “My great-grandfather told me that it would remain locked away until all of its protectors were made whole,” seeing a spark of interest in Ezio’s eyes, Mario smiled as he continued. “I heard rumors of crypts located throughout Italia, hidden tombs filled with treasure, where these six were moved centuries ago. Maybe _they_ have something to do with it,” he said, thinking aloud for the benefit of his niece and nephew where they stood, watching him with rapt attention; if there was anything that the members of their family enjoyed, it was the hunt for hidden treasure; even Giovanni, before the needs of his growing family had begun pressing upon him in earnest, had enjoyed such a thing. “In my younger days, I sought the six, myself. With no success. Perhaps one of you will have better luck.”

 

_~AC: II~_

 

“We’ll certainly do what we can, Uncle,” he said, still reeling slightly under the sheer barrage of words that had been necessary to convey the weight of the history within this room, and its importance to the brotherhood that he and little Maria had just joined. “Come on, little Maria, let’s get some lunch. We’ve still got a long day ahead of us.”

 

“ _Sí, fratello_ ,” little Maria said, sounding like she was more than a little taken-aback by everything, herself. “See you again, Uncle.”

 

“I’ll speak to the both of you soon, _nipoti_ ,” Uncle Mario said, grinning cheerily as the three of them made their way back up the stairs to his study. “Enjoy your meal.”

 

“Of course, Uncle,” he said, grinning widely.

 

“We will!” little Maria called cheerfully over her shoulder, as the pair of them made their way back into the main hall of Monteriggioni once again.

 

They still had preparations to make, if they were going to be leaving for Firenze to deal with Francesco de’ Pazzi and whatever Templars he had supporting him.


	161. Return to Firenze

It was some months later, in March, when they were finally able to leave for Firenze again. With their travel papers in order, and a friend of Uncle Mario’s having offered to provide shelter for them in secret while they stayed, Ezio found it all the more simple to make his way down to the small out-station that stood before the walls of Monteriggioni, there to hire a caravan so that he and little Maria could make their way back to the city where they had been born. Back to the city where they had lost so much.

 

Wrapping his left arm around his littlest sister’s narrow shoulders, Ezio allowed himself to relax into her embrace as their carriage brought them back to Firenze for the first time since Father and their brothers had been so unjustly murdered by the Templars.

 

When the pair of them had returned to Firenze at last, the first thing Ezio did was head for Leonardo’s workshop. Not only because he had made a promise to Uncle Mario about that very thing, but also because he himself wished to visit the man. Seeing Leonardo, glimpsing the gusto and enthusiasm he had for even the smallest things in life… it was like a balm to his weary heart.

 

 _Look at me, becoming poetic over such a silly thing_ , Ezio mused, smiling softly as he and little Maria scaled the wall of a nearby building, stepping up onto the rooftop and moving steadily deeper into the city. Once they had reached the Artists’ Quarter, it was only a handful of moments before he was able to spot a break in the crowds, leaving him and little Maria free to leap back down to street-level once more. Breathing deeply as he stood back up, Ezio swiftly composed himself, took little Maria by the hand, and continued on his way to Leonardo’s workshop.

 

Finding himself allowed inside by someone who seemed to be one of Leonardo’s senior assistants, since he could still remember the man from the last time he himself had been present in Firenze, Ezio thanked him for allowing the pair of them inside. As he was coming to expect, Leonardo himself seemed to be working on some other project – either that, or he was simply out of contact for some other reason; Ezio could still remember the cages filled with songbirds, and little Maria teasing him about his flying machine – and so was not able to greet them properly when they came in.

 

 _On the subject of that mad contraption,_ Ezio mused, grinning as he caught sight of what seemed to be a scaled-up version of the tiny model that little Maria had drawn his attention to, when they had visited Leonardo for the first time together, carrying the codex page that Father’s chest had had concealed within it.

 

“It seems that Leonardo still hasn’t given up on that mad scheme of his,” he said, sharing an amused smile with little Maria as the pair of them passed deeper into the workshop.

 

“ _Sí_ , and it also seems that that’s not all he’s been working on,” his littlest sister said, her gaze roving to take in the veritable cavalcade of curiosities upon the pair of trestle tables they had passed between on their way deeper into the workshop, where Leonardo was waiting for them.

 

 _And there he is,_ Ezio mused, smiling warmly as Leonardo himself embraced first him and then his littlest sister.

 

“Ezio! It’s so good to see that both of you have managed to make it back to Firenze without incident,” Leonardo – Ezio was starting to think the man wished to be a bit of everything, and so was finding it harder to think of the man as simply a painter – said, taking a step back so that he could assess the pair of them where they stood. “However, I suspect that this isn’t a social visit.”

 

“I was hoping you might be able to help me with something,” he said, smiling at the inquisitive expression that spread over Leonardo’s gentle, scholarly face.

 

“Anything for you, my friend,” Leonardo said, his eyes alight once more with curiosity. “Aha! You’ve found another one!” the inventor – yes, that sounded like a much more fitting description than simply painter – exclaimed, grinning all the way to one of his work tables. “How exciting!”

 

He and little Maria shared grins, as the pair of them made their way to stand on opposite sides of Leonardo, watching as the man muttered to himself, bent determinedly to his task. Apparently, each and every one of the strange codex had had every one of its pages encoded with a differing cipher. Or, at least that was the impression he was getting; still, it could very well be that he was wrong, and that the small sampling of pages he’d seen encompassed the full range of codes that Altaïr’s codex had been written in. He couldn’t know, after all, until he had found more of them.

 

“It seems to be a manual, of sorts, for different assassination techniques,” Leonardo said, looking up at them once he’d finished with his work.

 

“May I see it?”

 

“Wait, what’s that?” Leonardo muttered, not even seeming to have heard Ezio’s question over the siren call of curiosity in his all-too-eager ears. “It’s not so much a design, this time, but a series of sketches,” the inventor continued, eyes darting from the left side of the vellum to its right. “Hmm, what to _make_ of all this…” biting his lips, in order that he might avoid the embarrassment of mouthing like a landed fish, Ezio found that he could not quite avoid the soft _harrumph_ that crawled up his throat in response to the inventor’s sudden laughter. “Of course! And, why not! What an _inspired_ idea!”


	162. Altaïr’s teachings

“Can you make it for me, while little Maria and I try what is in that manual fragment?” he asked, knowing Leonardo well enough to understand that only the prospect of new and esoteric inventions could have drawn his attention so quickly and easily.

 

“Take it,” Leonardo said, graciously handing the manual in question to him. “I’ll need at least two days, perhaps two and a half, to collect and assemble the raw materials,” a thought seemed to come to him then. “Do you have a place to stay?”

 

“A friend of our family has offered to let little Maria and I stay with them,” he said, pleased at the concern Leonardo was showing to the pair of them. “ _Grazie_ for your consideration, Leonardo.”

 

“Of course, my friend.”

 

The pair of them made their way to the back of Leonardo’s workshop, and then were led to a courtyard just to the right of the main building by yet another of Leonardo’s assistants, a man named Vincenzo. Once the pair of them had made it into the courtyard itself, he found that there had, indeed, been training dummies set out for him and little Maria to hone their new skills upon. After the pair of them had consulted the codex page for a few, long moments, discussing what they saw in low tones – more out of the need to cultivate such a habit than out of necessity, under their present circumstances – before moving off to practice the three new techniques for the first time.

 

Each one of them had an element of surprise about it – truly, it could be said that _that_ was one of the greatest weapons that the Assassins possessed – with one of them being to spring from out of a haystack, pulling the intended target inside so that they could be swiftly hidden; the other being a high leap from a ledge, taking the unwary with very little chance of being detected from anywhere but above; and the last being to simply pull the legs out from under those who might have had the bad fortune to be standing on a balcony, thinking themselves safe for that reason. Of the three, Ezio could not quite decide which one he favored over the others. Little Maria, of course, was quite fond of leaping out of the haystack.

 

He’d expected nothing less of her, the little imp.

 

After they’d practiced three times upon each of the stuffed dummies, he and little Maria took turns practicing on one another; never with lethal intent, of course, but even being caught by whatever piece of clothing either one of them could grab was more than a bit disconcerting. The pair of them also trained themselves to dodge any attempts to use those same methods upon _them_ , since there was always the chance, however slight, that they would be facing those who had been trained in the same ways he and little Maria were training.

 

Perhaps even some who had specifically trained to counter the very skills that they themselves were learning.

 

Once he and little Maria were both satisfied with their training for the day, though the pair of them _did_ agree that they would both continue practicing the three techniques they had just learned with all due diligence, Ezio thanked Vincenzo for the help that he had been willing to give to them, and then proceeded little Maria back into Leonardo’s workshop, hearing the sounds of Vincenzo and some of his fellows as they began cleaning up the courtyard behind them.

 

“There’s something else I’d like to ask you, Leonardo,” he said, making his way over to the table that the inventor was still seated before, making notes and sketches.

 

“Ask, then,” Leonardo said, turning a warm grin back on him. “If I know something, even the smallest thing, I’ll tell you every bit of it.”

 

“ _Grazie_ , Leonardo.”

 

“It’s the least I _can_ do, in return for a look into that marvelous Codex of yours,” the inventor said, grinning back at him. “I have some aspirations toward being an innovator, but so much in even those two pages you showed me would be new and strange, I think, even to the ones who taught _me_. Anyway,” Leonardo said, shaking his head, as though to chase away his errant thoughts. “What was it you wanted, _amico_?”

 

“There’s a man that Father wants us to get in contact with,” Ezio said, digging out the folded slip of paper that Father had handed to him on the day that he and little Maria had departed on their way back to Firenze. “We’re not to approach him publicly, Father was adamant about that in particular, so would you know a way-”

 

“ _La Volpe_ ,” Leonardo said, cutting into anything else that Ezio might have said, while at the same time making the saying of anything in particular a rather moot point.

 

“The Fox?” Leonardo shushed him before he could have said anything else. “ _Capisco_. But, do you know where a Fox might roam?”

 

“Perhaps,” Leonardo said, his tone low and quick, edging into being a whisper without quite taking that last step. “Near the Mercato, where the thieves dwell… If you’re aiming to find him, be _careful_. No one has ever managed such a feat, if… _he_ wasn’t looking for them, first.”

 

“ _Grazie_ , Leonardo,” he said, nodding to little Maria as she hurried over and the three of them exchanged farewells.

 

“Come back in two days, and I’ll have it ready for you, as promised,” the inventor said, and Ezio smiled as he realized that Leonardo had been careful enough not to mention just what it _was_ that he would have ready the day after tomorrow, now that the three of them stood before the man’s door and were preparing to depart.

 

He and little Maria embraced Leonardo a last time, before taking momentary shelter in an alleyway so that they would be able to climb back up to the rooftops without being seen.

 

“It was so amazing,” little Maria said, once the pair of them were comfortably above the height that anyone else might have heard them talking. “Leonardo has made so many things; not just those paintings that you told me about, but models and blueprints as well!” she said, her bubbling stream of words only momentarily pausing, when the pair of them reached a large gap between buildings that needed to be jumped. “I could hardly decide where to look first!”

 

“ _Sí_ , I saw you,” he said, grinning back at his littlest sister as the pair of them continued on their way across the rooftops of Firenze, in search of whatever it was that they would be able to find in the Mercato Vecchio district; if not the Fox himself, then perhaps someone who might know of him. “I think, if you truly wanted to, Leonardo would not mind if you asked to stay with him.”

 

“ _Sí_ , I know,” little Maria said, sounding more dejected than he could account for. “I _would_ really enjoy that, but…”

 

“What is it, _sorellina_?”

 

“Well, the letter that Mother wrote for me said that she wanted me to look after you, and to learn whatever I could, so that I could take care of myself, if… anyone else were to try anything.”

 

“Anything like what those Templar _bastardi_ tried,” he said, completing the thought that Mother had likely been having when she wrote the letter that Claudia had delivered to little Maria.

 

“ _Sí_ ,” his littlest sister said, giving him a wan smile. “That’s what she told me she wanted.”

 

“It’s a sentiment we have in common, _sorellina_ ,” he said, pausing to think more deeply upon just what their mother might have meant when she wrote those words. “Still, I don’t think Mother would have wanted to stop you from following your own interests. Since she worked with Father, and everything that Uncle Mario says makes it seem like the _Assassini_ are all in favor of everyone’s freedom, she probably just meant for you to keep up with your training, _sorellina_. Not to let it take over your life.”

 

“ _Grazie, fratello_. I think you’re right,” little Maria said, sounding much happier than she had when the pair of them had first started their conversation.

 

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, smiling as the perfect solution to their respective situations presented itself before him. “There’s someone I’d like to… see, for just a bit,” he said, continuing in the face of the ever-widening grin he’d spotted on his littlest sister’s face. “ _Sí_ , it is who you’re thinking, you little imp, so don’t even ask,” he said, prompting a fit of giggles from the silly girl. “Anyway, perhaps you could return to Leonardo’s, and I could pick you up from there. It seems as though you’d both enjoy each other’s company.”

 

“Well I suppose, if you _are_ going to be _busy_ , _fratello_ ,” little Maria said, grinning shamelessly back at him.

 

“Go on, then,” he said, grinning back as he reached to ruffle his littlest sister’s silvery fringe. “I’ll meet up with you later.”

 

“ _Sí, fratello_. _Grazie_.”

 

“Of course,” he said, smiling gently as little Maria turned and raced away across the rooftops, heading back toward Leonardo and his workshop.

 

Breathing in deeply to fortify himself, Ezio turned and made his way toward the _palazzo_ Vespucci.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

When she had made her own way back to Leonardo da’ Vinci’s workshop, the smile Maria had been wearing for her silly, hopeless romantic of a brother was still firmly on her face. Yes, things were not truly likely to have remained exactly the same, during the two years that their family had been absent from Firenze – witness the state of their family’s _palazzo_ , glimpsed when neither of them had been able to resist the urge to go and look - but it was clear that Ezio had been hoping that there was at least _one_ thing that had and would remain true, no matter how many years passed. Maria still wished her last brother well, even though she didn’t quite know if she believed he would find what he wanted.

 

Still, Ezio deserved to have something go right for him, if only just to counter-balance everything that had gone wrong, and the pair of them truly did seem to love each other.

 

 _Well, enough thoughts about what my silly brother might be doing,_ Maria mused, alighting on a rooftop that overlooked Leonardo’s courtyard. Watching carefully for anyone who might have been keeping a lookout for anyone inside the courtyard itself, Maria waited for a few moments, and then leaped lightly down into the longer grass bordering the edges of the neatly-manicured yard. A look to her left and right, then to her right and left, assured Maria that she had indeed managed to escape the notice of any of the city guard who might have been patrolling in this area.

 

Knocking at the inner-door of the courtyard, the one she and Ezio had passed through not so very long ago, Maria waited to be let in. Vincenzo seemed surprised to see her, but he quickly went to fetch Leonardo when she asked it of him.

 

“Little Maria,” the inventor said, seeming surprised as well, but also just the slightest but pleased if Maria could call herself any judge. “I wasn’t honestly expecting to see you again so soon, but this _does_ solve a conundrum I’d found myself facing. Come,” he said, leading her deeper into his workshop with all of its fascinating odds, ends, and inventions-in-the-making. “Now, would you mind holding out the arm you use the most often?”

 

She laughed, realizing just what it was that Leonardo had in mind. “You know, Ezio might not entirely approve of the gift you’re planning to give me,” she said, chuckling as another thought came to her. “And, you know that I’m still growing, _sí_? I might end up taller than Ezio, even.”

 

The pair of them shared a laugh, as Maria offered her right arm to Leonardo so that he could measure the lengths and widths he would need, in order to create what he was aiming to.


	163. Foxes and eagles

Speaking with Christina that last time – to say nothing of meeting her fiancé, Manfredo – had left Ezio with mingled feelings of resignation and resolve. While it _was_ true that he’d been uncertain about bringing Christina into the kind of life that he and little Maria were living, he’d have still appreciated having the option to do such, instead of having the option blocked to him as he had. However, in the end, he supposed that he _could_ see the logic that Christina’s father had been operating under.

 

Two years _was_ a long time to delay a marriage, particularly at the age he and Christina had both been.

 

Sighing as he came back into sight of Leonardo’s workshop, Ezio paused to watch the crowds milling below. Finally spotting an opportune moment, he leaped lightly down into the courtyard, then made his way up to the door. Rapping on the door, he waited for Vincenzo to come to the door and let him in.

 

“Ezio, come in, come in,” the inventor said, waving to him.

 

“Welcome back, _fratello mio_!” little Maria called cheerfully, grinning at him as she hurried over.

 

The pair of them embraced, sharing kisses, as Leonardo smiled at them.

 

“Do the pair of you have time to stop for a bit of wine?” Leonardo asked.

 

“Sadly, no,” he said, as little Maria took her place at his side. “I’m glad to see you again, _amico mio_. _Grazie_ for your hospitality.”

 

“Of course,” the inventor said, smiling widely as he waved goodbye to the pair of them. “Remember to come back in two days, _amici_.”

 

“We will,” he said, as the pair of them turned to depart from Leonardo’s workshop once again.

 

Climbing back up onto the rooftops once more, Ezio breathed more easily, though he suspected that his lack of composure was showing, given the way little Maria was looking at him. The pair of them continued on their way to the Mercato Vecchio, moving a bit too fast to have any kind of conversation, and he tried to think of nothing but the man that Uncle Mario had sent them out to find. Still, seeing the understanding on his littlest sister’s face made Ezio feel at least somewhat better.

 

Perhaps, in time, he could even come to see the good in the decision that Christina’s father had made.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

When the pair of them finally arrived in the Mercato Vecchio, having descended back to the ground so that they would be better able to track down the man that Uncle Mario had wanted them to track down within that part of the city, the first thing Maria noticed was the man who tried to run past her. Reaching out to grab the man’s nearest arm, once she heard Ezio shouting about his stolen money, Maria nearly found herself yanked off her feet when the man tried to pull free from her grip. Bracing herself against the weight of the man as he fought against her, Maria glared at him when his eyes snapped toward her.

 

She’d honestly been expecting the man to freeze up the way he did, since that was what everyone did when they saw her yellow eyes, but it was his reaction after that that surprised her…

 

“ _Cazzo_! One of you, all the way out here?!” the man exclaimed. “Come on! We have to get out of here!”

 

“Hey, _lurido porco_! Get your hands off my sister!”

 

“Sister?” the man asked, turning to look from Ezio to her and then back again, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Come on; quickly, now.”

 

Blinking in surprise as she found herself tugged along behind the man who had come up to them, clearly a thief given how they had met in the first place, Maria looked at her brother as the pair of them followed along in the thief’s wake.

 

“This isn’t what I was expecting at all,” she said.

 

“I know,” he said, an amused sort of smile pulling at his lips as the pair of them continued on their way through the city.

 

When the three of them finally stopped, finding themselves standing before a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in a hooded cloak that looked familiar in all but color, and the subtler nuances of the cut. The man himself, whose eyes seemed to be some shade of _violet_ of all colors, reached out to gently lift her chin, smiling in a fashion that Maria could only truly call knowing.

 

“I’m glad to see that the pair of you made it quickly and without too much incident,” the man said, the smile on his face slowly becoming more of a welcoming sort as he let go of Maria’s chin and folded his strong arms across his broad chest.

 

“You are _La Volpe_ , _Messer_?” Ezio asked, just before Maria herself could articulate that same question.

 

The man grinned, an edge of self-deprecation to the expression. “Oh, there are many things I’ve been called, in my time, _piccola amici_ ; murderer, _tagliagole_ , thief. But I remain, to the end, myself. And, the both of you may indeed call me _La Volpe_.”

 

“It’s good to meet you, _Messer_ ,” she said, feeling about as off-balance as Ezio seemed to be, but knowing that it was best to show courtesy to someone when you first met them; if they hadn’t harmed you or any of yours, at least.

 

“And you as well,” the man said, still smiling widely. “Still, I expect that you haven’t been sent all this way on merely a social call.”

 

“You’re right,” Ezio said, nodding decisively. “We need to find someone; to know where he’ll be, even before he does.”

 

“Who?” the man asked, though his manner suggested that he knew more than he was letting on.

 

“Francesco de’ Pazzi,” Ezio said, the name itself spat out like some kind of poison.

 

“There’s word on the street of a caravan just arrived from Roma; a secret meeting, to be held at sunset, tonight. You can learn something Francesco’s whereabouts there.”

 

“Do you know where this meeting is to be held?” Ezio asked.

 

“I do,” the man said, nodding. “Let me know when you’re ready, and we’ll go. Corradin!”

 

“ _Sí_?”

 

“Take the little one here back to our guild’s headquarters, and get her something to fill her belly,” the man said, smiling gently. “Her brother and I are going to be hunting big game tonight. Don’t worry, _piccola amico_ , I’ll be taking good care of your brother.”

 

She grinned at the pair of them. “That’s good; Ezio needs all the help he can get.”

 

“Hey! _Marmocchio_ ,” her last brother said, giving her a playful shove; the pair of them laughed softly, while _La Volpe_ grinned.


	164. Into the underground

After a final farewell, their small group split neatly into two pairs, and Maria followed the newly-named Corradin deeper into the city, passing through what looked like the better parts – though such was a relative term, in such a place as this – and into the smaller, more cramped, more run-down spaces that the thieves seemed to have made their own. She didn’t quite know what to make of it, with all of the rough-looking men congregating in such a place, but one glance at her yellow eyes and each and every one of them broke out in a knowing smile.

 

Maria wondered just what it was that these men in particular were seeing, when they looked at her.

 

When she and Corradin arrived at what seemed to be their final destination, Maria found, to her swiftly-mounting shock and amazement, that she was _not_ the only one with yellow eyes and silver hair in this place. Most of those now beginning to gather around her were older – men and women, a few of them even starting to show the settling lines of age on their faces – yet, there were also those who seemed to share the same number of years as she herself had, or were only a few years ahead. It was such a strange thing, seeing so many who shared the features that had marked her out as strange and different for all of her life.

 

“So, you’ve found another one of ours out there,” the man who seemed to have elected himself to speak on behalf of every one of those who Maria could see arrayed around her.

 

“ _Sí_ , he did,” she said, speaking in an effort to overcome the sheer strangeness of the situation she had just found herself in.

 

“But you still don’t know what to make of all this, do you _piccola aquila_?” the man who had met her and Ezio when they first came into the city that this place was just a small part of said, making his way down into the maze of high walls and narrow corridors that Maria had followed Corradin down into not so very long ago. He held up his hands, as Maria’s eyes snapped to him. “Your brother will be fine; your uncle taught him well, and he’s absorbed enough of the lessons to keep himself out of sight, at least.”

 

“He’s spying on the Templar meeting alone?” Maria asked, not sure if she was more proud or worried for the last of her brothers.

 

“That he is, _piccola aquila_ ,” the man who called himself _La Volpe_ said, smiling in a pleased sort of way. “And, though he’s still a bit slow to get started, he’s still young. Not quite so young as you, but he still has time to learn what he needs to.”

 

“ _Sí_ , I’d have to say that you’re right,” she said. “Still, who are all these others, _Messer Volpe_?”

 

“Please, call me Gilberto,” he said, the smile on his face becoming softer and more gentle. “Some of these, as you might have begun to suspect, came from the exact same place that you did, so long ago. Some of them,” here, Gilberto’s face fell into an expression of disapproval. “We took in, after they were forced to leave their families behind,” given the tone of his voice, Maria suspected that the mentioned partings had not been particularly pleasant. “Others, the ones your age, and those even younger, were born into this life, and chose to stay.”

 

“That’s quite the story,” she said, still surprised to see so many others who shared the coloring that had marked her out for the whole of her life. “I’m glad that your people are all doing so well, _Messer_ Gilberto, but I confess that I still don’t know what to make of all this.”

 

“With enough time, you’ll come to understand,” Gilberto said, smiling gently. “But come, _piccola aquila_ , let’s get you settled down for the night. You and your brother have both had a long journey.”

 

“ _You’re_ the one who Uncle Mario arranged for us to stay with, _Messer_ Gilberto?”

 

“ _Sí, piccola aquila_ , I am,” Gilberto said, smiling gently back at her, as the pair of them fell into step with each other, moving steadily toward a building that, for all its rough outward appearance, seemed sturdy and well-built.

 

As she followed Gilberto into the candle-and-lamp lit interior, Maria couldn’t help but reflect that her life, strange as it had become in the days since the murder of Father and two of her brothers, had just taken another turn for the strange.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

He hadn’t quite known what to expect, when _La Volpe_ had directed him down into the catacombs beneath Firenze, but being forced leap, climb, and dash like some kind of crazed monkey had most certainly _not_ been in his plans for the evening. Still, all of that was over with, and now he was peering into the room where the Templars were having their meeting. Of course, after the course he had been forced to run – truly, the catacombs beneath Firenze seemed less like a hidden system of tunnels and more as though an entire city had been buried beneath Firenze itself, and some of the statuary he’d glimpsed had even suggested that there had been _Assassins_ in that city – it wasn’t as though he’d simply been expecting to be able to sit down and listen in on the Templars at their meeting like a normal person.

 

He would have enjoyed it immensely, if such a thing had ended up being the case, but after all he’d done to get to that point, Ezio had been all but _expecting_ this mad excursion to have an equally mad ending.


	165. Secret meetings

And here he was, crouching outside a small, barred window, looking down into the room where the Templars – Rodrigo Borgia among them – were holding their meeting. He learned that Stefano de Bagnone, as well as a man named Bernardo Baroncelli, were conspiring with Borgia, the remaining Pazzi, and what sounded like a fair few others – including the Pope himself – in order to murder the Medici. Holding himself still, knowing that he would not do anyone a single bit of good if he were to slip up and get himself killed for even such a thing as this, Ezio also learned that there was someone very much like his littlest sister – a young man of about Ezio’s own age, or perhaps a bit older, he couldn’t tell from merely the conversation they were having – living as a part of the Medici family.

It seemed that, while the Templars here aimed to murder Lorenzo and Giuliano, their other objective was the capture of this unnamed man; Ezio knew that he would have his work cut out for him, attempting to prevent both.

Once the meeting had concluded, with Ezio also learning that Rodrigo Borgia was staying in Firenze for some unknown amount of time for some purpose that the man had not deigned to speak of even to his fellow Templars, he moved away from his listening post once he’d heard the last patter of departing Templar footfalls upon the rough, uneven stone floor. However, before he could take more than a couple of steps, the sight of what seemed to be an elaborate sort of crypt caught his attention, and Ezio stopped in his tracks.

The statue, standing over the coffin itself… it was a perfect match for one of those he’d seen within the Sanctuary that lay underneath Monteriggioni itself.

Making his way over to the side of the coffin, Ezio spotted the same innocuous sort of locking mechanism that La Volpe had shown to him when the man had shown him into the catacombs in the first place. It was beginning to seem that, if this place had not been built by the Assassins themselves, then at the very least it had a powerful connection to them. Looked at in that light, the presence of Templars in such a place could honestly be seen as the worst sort of defilement.

As he removed an artifact that bore as startling a resemblance to the round plate at the base of the statue as the statue itself did to what seemed to be its counterpart within the Sanctuary, Ezio wondered what those long-dead Assassins would have thought of his own actions. Would they have approved, that he was seeking to retrieve something that had been said to have been made by one of the best of their number, or else would they have seen his actions as merely another defilement, compounding that made by the Templars themselves.

Those thoughts pursued him, even as Ezio found his way back up into the streets of Firenze, and from there to what seemed to be an impromptu meeting with La Volpe.

“I know where Francesco will be, and when,” he told the man, as the pair of them settled down upon a bench together, like a couple of old friends watching the stars come out. “But…”

“What is it?” La Volpe prompted, when Ezio found himself unable to go on.

“I overheard something,” he continued, having gathered himself enough to continue, even in the face of his growing apprehension for the fate of the city he had once called home. “They have weapons, enough for a battalion. Even the Pope has given support!”

“Typical of Sixtus,” La Volpe said, sounding distinctly unimpressed. “But, what the hell are they planning?”

“I couldn’t understand all of the specifics,” he said, knowing only that the men present had been collecting and speaking of weapons, and yes there had been a moment when he was certain that it was murder that the Templars had on their minds, but he did not know if it was merely his own bad blood with the Pazzi that made him see things that weren’t there; Ezio did not want to allow his hatred of the Pazzi and their allies to force him to conclusions he would not have otherwise reached. “But, it involves the Medici, and I have heard talk of a young man – much like my little sister, who you’ve met – that they intend to capture. Whatever else they intend, it all begins tomorrow, at the Duomo.”

“The Medici will all be there for Sunday service, along with the rest of Firenze,” La Volpe said, his tone becoming all the more thoughtful, his eyes even beginning to narrow under the deep hood he wore. “They’re going to do it right in the middle of High Mass!”

Ezio also found himself shocked, not having thought that even the Templars would have been willing to commit such sacrilege as to launch what had to be an attack during such a holy time, but he quickly forced himself to regain his composure. “It’s also a chance for me to get close,” he said, knowing that such would be true. “To blend with the crowd, and stop that madness before it has a chance to start.”

“If they succeed, if we lose Lorenzo and Firenze falls to the Pazzi…”

“It will not come to that,” he said, cutting into La Volpe’s pessimism. “I promise.”

“I hope you’re right, Brother,” La Volpe said, a hand on his right shoulder.

Ezio sighed, drawing himself up. “While I am gone, would you look after little Maria for me?”

“You honestly thing she’s not going to insist on going with you?” La Volpe asked, a good-natured grin creeping back onto his face. “Our little Sister’s skill is growing by leaps and bounds.”

He sighed, knowing that little Maria would argue exactly the same thing, if she had been present with the pair of them. “I suppose you’re right,” he said, folding his arms. “All of the women in my family seem to be determined to fight, in their own way.”

“It’s something that all Assassins have in common,” La Volpe said, slapping a companionable hand on his right shoulder, and then giving him a soft shake. “If there is any way that we might be able to stand up against an injustice that we see in the world, there’s little anyone can do to stop us.”

“Sí, I’m beginning to understand that,” he said, feeling some of his good-humor restored as he stood back up.


	166. Seals and signs

Making his way around the city, practicing with his second-sight – what he’d heard some of the other Assassins in residence around here and in Monteriggioni calling Eagle Vision – Ezio soon found his attention caught by the bright gold that marked a person, or a place as in his current situation, out as being something of interest. As it turned out, there was another one of those hidden spring-catches, marking out an entrance to the catacombs that he’d been through once before.

 

However, finding such a thing sticking out of the very wall of the Duomo itself… Ezio wasn’t sure what to make of _that_.

 

As it turned out, the passage that he’d currently stepped through was less of an entrance to subterranean catacombs, and more of a mad scramble up through the structure of the Duomo itself. In that, at least, Ezio found himself reminded of his earlier journey. Whoever these long-dead Assassins had been, Ezio found himself reflecting as he scaled to higher and more dizzying heights within the Duomo, he could not deny that they had been both madly athletic and ingeniously inventive.

 

Panting deeply as he stood within the high, bright room where the Assassins had laid one of their own to rest, Ezio moved over to the stone coffin – what kind of stone, he couldn’t tell – and triggered the spring-lock set into the right side. Once he was able to access the interior of the coffin, Ezio removed the artifact that he’d come into this place to retrieve, bowed respectfully to the statue and the history the Assassin it depicted had likely borne witness to, and then made his way to another one of those hidden spring-locks that had brought him into this place to begin with.

 

The journey he made back to the surface, back to the open air and the streets of Firenze, was a great deal easier than getting inside had been; still, such a thing seemed to hold true for at least the two catacombs that he had visited. He would have wondered what kept someone from attempting to back-trace the exit-rout that an enterprising Assassin had taken, if his own experience with moving in the gaps of attention that most of those outside the Brotherhood left for one with an Assassin’s training to slip through had not given him all of the answers to such a question without him even needing to ask to begin with.

 

Breathing more easily, once he left the stifling confines of the tunnels behind him, Ezio climbed back up onto the rooftops so that he would more easily be able to traverse the length and breadth of the city without being spotted by an enterprising guard patrol.

 

Once he had made it back into the quarter where he’d met up with _La Volpe_ that last time, Ezio spotted the man himself, making what looked to be a round of the city. Quickly leaping down into a nearby haystack, Ezio made sure that there were no others nearby enough to spot them – a simple thing, since there were few enough people around this place in the daylight – and then went to meet up with the man who had already helped him and little Maria so much. Perhaps, considering all he seemed to know about the city, he’d be able to help them once more.

 

“Finished with your other business, _amico_?”

 

“ _Sí_ ,” he answered easily, nodding as the man’s violet eyes – though they looked merely black, with the late hour and the shadows of his hood – fell upon him. “Still, I wonder if you could help me again,” he paused for a moment, waiting for _La Volpe_ to nod before continuing on. “My uncle said that little Maria and I were to meet up with a man named Gilberto, who he’d arranged for us to stay with while we were here in Firenze.”

 

“Well, you certainly came to the right place,” _La Volpe_ said, a grin filled with good-natured amusement beginning to spread across his face.

 

Ezio was just about to open his mouth, just about to ask what in the world _La Volpe_ could mean by that, when he realized just what it was that the man had to have been getting at. Laughing softly at himself, Ezio felt a grin pulling at his own lips. “You… _You’re_ Gilberto, aren’t you.”

 

“ _Sí, amico_ , that is my name,” the man who they would be staying with for the duration of their time in Firenze said, the grin on his face stretching all the wider.

 

Ezio shook his head; he felt more than a little foolish for not thinking about just who the man under the hood might have been, but glad, also, that he’d come to know the character of the man that he and little Maria were going to be staying with. Following Gilberto back to the quarter of the city he and his had claimed as their own, Ezio allowed himself to relax. At the very least, he knew what the Templars were currently planning.

 

Now, all that remained was to stop it.


	167. Attack on the Medici

Waking just before dawn the next morning, she met up with Ezio and the pair of them made their way back out into the streets of Firenze. Ezio had told her about just what it was that Jacopo de’ Pazzi and his Templar allies planned to do to the Medici on this very morning, and the both of them had made up their minds to prevent the murders in any way that they possibly could. They couldn’t allow the Pazzi to gain control over Firenze, that much was certain.

 

Still, knowing that she was going to be heading into her first real battle – not simply raining throwing daggers down on the heads of anyone she could reach from a rooftop perch – beside the last of her brothers was a daunting prospect, all the same.

 

Now, however, having just descended from the roof of a building close enough to the Duomo that they could keep watch over the people that had begun to trickle in as the sun climbed steadily higher into the sky, Maria hoped that the training she and Ezio had done before this day would be enough to carry them through the battle to come. Pausing to observe for a long moment, Maria steadied herself as she searched for a familiar form amidst the gathering crowds.

 

This wasn’t something that the pair of them could do on their own, after all.

 

Gilberto, who’d asked that she and Ezio continue to call him _La Volpe_ when they were outside of the walls of the small, cozy house they were all staying in while they worked to counter the scheme that the Pazzi and their Templar allies had engineered to give them power over Firenze and all the people who lived within her. Even aside from the fact that the Medici had been allies of the Auditore family for as long as she or Ezio could remember, there were also all of the other people in Firenze herself who would suffer under the dominion of those Pazzi _bastardi_. Maria also kept them in mind, since both Gilberto and Uncle Mario had said that the Assassins fought for the people.

 

More than that, they fought to give a voice to those people who – whether by circumstance or by design – could not speak for themselves.

 

And so, the sight of Francesco de’ Pazzi, standing just at the edges of the crowd – clearly thinking himself clever, with his stolen robes and whatever weapons he’d smuggled with him – gave Maria something of a thrill. Here, now, would be her first chance to honestly contribute to the struggle that all of their family, for however many generations the Auditore had existed, had been a part of. It was thrilling and terrifying at once, truly.

 

When Ezio signaled her to move, clearly having spotted Francesco himself, Maria pulled out her small dagger – a gift from Gilberto, so that she would not be without her own means of attack or defense in the coming battle – and raced alongside her brother into the fray.

 

The battle itself devolved into a mad scramble almost as soon as Francesco and his lackey, a man she’d been told was named Bernardo Baroncelli, rushed into the crowd, brandishing their long daggers at Lorenzo and his brother. The screams all around her, from panicking people who were so unlike the guards that she’d gotten brief glimpses of when Uncle Mario had brought her to ride alongside him during their attack on San Gimignano not so very long ago, rattled her concentration a bit, but Maria pushed through.

 

There was little chance that Francesco or his lackey had been so badly affected as she, after all.

 

She lost sight of Ezio in the confusion, and out of the corner of her right eye Maria spotted the brutish form of Francesco de’ Pazzi. However, before she could take note of more than the fact that he stood entirely too close to Giuliano de’ Medici for her peace of mind, Maria found herself shoved shoulder-to-shoulder with someone rather taller and broader than her, the pair of them facing another, quite larger pair of men, seemingly armed with nets.

 

“Well, brother, it looks as though we’re going to be getting _double_ the reward for this capture,” the man on the right said, a twisted grin on his face.

 

“Indeed, brother,” the other man said, grinning in that same, sickening way.

 

She turned to meet the eyes of the man standing beside her, and found herself staring at eyes of the same shade that greeted _her_ when she chanced to look into either still water or a mirror; it reminded her, once again, that there were indeed others who shared her circumstances. Others who would be in the same kind of danger from the Templars, the Pazzi, and anyone else who might have wanted the kind of abilities they possessed. Or else anyone who held a Piece of Eden and wished to lay their hands on even more of them.

 

She’d been told that she and those like her were able to sense the presence of the other Pieces by some means or other, but Gilberto hadn’t been able to explain more than that, and she’d been too tired to ask the others like her about what he might have meant by that.

 

Still, here and now, these men with ropes and nets were her enemy, and so Maria would stand against them, and beside the other man who they clearly had an interest in as well. The men, however, had of course been armed with more than simply ropes and nets, and as her dagger and the sword that the man standing firm beside her clashed with the swords of the two men facing them, Maria tried not to allow herself to become confused by the sounds of battle swirling all around them. Still, she also tried to keep at least one ear and eye out for the last of her brothers, even as she joined her strength and skill to that of the man fighting beside her.

 

That was the only way that she and the other man were going to be able to fight against these two men accosting them, whoever they turned out to be.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

When the shouts and screaming had started, Lorenzo di’ Medici had not known just who it was that was both brazen and depraved enough to defile the sanctity of such a holy place with bloodshed, but seeing Francesco de’ Pazzi bearing down on him and Giuliano with a barred dagger… No, Lorenzo could hardly say he was surprised at seeing the face of such a man. Still, when another man – one who wore the same hooded cloak that he’d seen Giovanni in, when the pair of them had had occasion to work together – leaped into the fray, a sword out to block the Pazzi’s dagger, Lorenzo allowed himself the luxury of a look around.

 

Luciano – originally calling himself Luccio; one of the oldest of the children to escape from the Templars that dark night so many years ago – was fighting against the Orsi brothers, faithless dogs who would work for anyone who paid them enough, and there seemed to be another Treasure Guardian fighting alongside him; from the look of them, dressed as they were in the same kind of hooded cloak that his own rescuer was wearing, it seemed that they had a connection to Giovanni’s successor, as well.

 

It was not a thing that Lorenzo had been expecting, but he was grateful for it, all the same.

 

“You saved my life,” he said, once the last of the Pazzi’s cowardly dogs had been killed, or else fled, as was the case with the Orsi.

 

“It’s nothing,” the young man, who could only have been Giovanni’s last remaining son, Ezio – and that meant that he also knew the name of the younger of the pair; the Treasure Guardian who had been so quick to fight alongside Luciano – said, with understandable, controlled fury in his voice. “But, the man who did this to you has to pay!”


	168. Bambini di Eden

“Not now,” he begged off, forcing himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against while he regained what strength he could. “Luciano!” he called, seeing the familiar form of the young man – no longer the shy, cowering boy that the Templars had shaped him into – rushing over to him, Giuliano’s gravely injured form held between him and what Lorenzo could now see was indeed the young girl that Giovanni had taken into his home.

“He’s not doing well, fratello,” Luciano said, looking worriedly at the bloodied form of Giuliano held between him and the youngest of Giovanni’s two daughters.

“I know,” he said, turning back to the young Auditore who had given him aid in this most desperate of times. “We need to get back to my home; I have friends there who can help,” he said, glancing back over his left shoulder at Ezio. “Please, help me get there, Messer.”

“Sí, Altezza,” Ezio said, helping Lorenzo to lean against his right side, as the pair of them quickly set off in the direction of the church.

Trying to steady his breathing, as the five of them hurried to the church where he could take shelter while he was tended to, Lorenzo forced himself to keep moving. There, Giuliano could receive the life-saving care he would need, and Ezio and his young sister could rest from their labors. There, the five of them could rest and recover from the ordeals of this terrible day.

Their group had some close calls on their way back to their palazzo, but the most trying of their circumstances turned out to be the man he himself had set to guard the entrance to his family’s ancestral home.

“Angelo, open the fucking door!” he commanded, after Ezio’s initial call had been all but dismissed in spite of the clear urgency of the situation.

“By the Thrice Greatest!” the guard exclaimed, throwing open the door and allowing him, Ezio, and Luciano and little Maria, with Giuliano between them, into the palazzo courtyard. “Come in, quickly! The city is at war! Hurry!”

“Stay,” he called, when it seemed that Ezio would pull his young sister aside, so that the pair of them might leave more quickly. “You’re Giovanni’s boy, aren’t you?” he asked, though it wasn’t much of a question; he’d been suspecting as much since he caught a glimpse of the face under Ezio’s hood.

“I am, Altezza,” the young man – too young, to bear the burdens he so clearly did – said, nodding in a stoic sort of way.

“And, I suppose that would make this young lady your youngest sister, Maria,” he smiled gently in the direction of the Treasure Guardian, as she stood beside his own adopted Guardian.

“Sí, named after our mother,” Ezio said, his own gaze lingering on little Maria and Luciano as they handed Giuliano off to the nurses to be tended to.

“Your father was a good man, and one of my greatest friends and allies,” he assured the young Auditore. “Giovanni knew well of honor, courage, and the duty to Firenze that all of her protectors share,” he sighed, feeling again the weight of the loss the pair of them had been bound by. “I wish that my spies had been able to find out about the conspiracy against your family before things came to such a bloody conclusion,” he turned a gentle smile upon the young man who had suffered so much, and yet still fought on. “I was there when Alberti died. Your work?”

“It was,” Ezio said.

“You took a swift and fitting revenge,” he assured the young Auditore, even as the hushed tones of the nurses became more urgent-sounding. “Something I, sad to say, clearly have not. Stay here and rest, for as long as you need to,” he continued, and was about to offer the siblings what hospitality he could, when one of the nurses who had been tending to his brother came over to him.


	169. Giuliano de’ Medici

Given the downward cast of the kindly woman’s face, Lorenzo suspected that he already knew what kind of news she meant to give him.

 

“I’m sorry, _Altezza_ ,” she said, the tone of her voice serving only to confirm his suspicions rather than allay them. “We were only able to ease your brother’s pain; he was wounded too gravely during the battle.”

 

“ _Dio abbi pietà_ ,” he muttered, shaking his head.

 

“He’s some life left in him yet,” the gentle woman said, looking as though she were trying to smile, even through the tears gathering in her eyes. “And he wants to see you, one last time.”

 

“Of course,” he said, allowing himself to be lead into the room where the dying form of his younger brother was laid out.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

When Lorenzo and the Treasure Guardian that he had adopted left to make their last goodbyes to Giuliano, Ezio made his way over to little Maria.

 

“How are you managing, _sorellina_?” he asked, wrapping an arm around little Maria’s thin shoulders.

 

“That was my first taste of real battle,” little Maria said, shrugging a bit helplessly. “I guess… I was expecting that I might feel… I don’t know, _different_ afterward.”

 

“I thought that, once,” he said, smiling gently as he settled down beside his littlest sister. “Other than that, how are you?”

 

“As good as anyone could expect, I suppose,” little Maria said, leaning gently against him as the pair of them rested from their labors.

 

Reaching up to gently stroke little Maria’s soft, silver hair, Ezio looked up to see the same man – Angelo, he recalled – hurrying back into the room with them.


	170. Burdens halved

“The Pazzi supporters have rallied, and they are storming the Palazzo Vecchio!” Angelo exclaimed, stopping before the pair of them. “Francesco is at the head of them,” the man continued. “Lorenzo wants me to convey his regrets, but he cannot spare more than one detachment of his soldiers to accompany you.”

 

“ _Va bene_ ,” he said, rising from his seat. “Where is your armory?”

 

“I’ll take you there, _Messer_ ,” Angelo said, hurrying to take the pair of them to the armory.

 

Once he, little Maria, and the detachment of Medici guardsmen that could be spared had all armed themselves for the next battle that was soon to be upon them, Ezio took his littlest sister back out into Firenze once again. The cacophony of clanging bells and shouting men-at-arms slammed into him, battering at Ezio’s ears in a distinctly unpleasant fashion. Grinding his teeth briefly at the pain in his ears, Ezio forced himself to climb up the side of a nearby building.

 

Once he’d managed to make it far enough away from the men fighting in the streets, into the clear air that he’d found invigorating ever since he’d made his first foray up to the dizzying heights that his training as an Assassin – though he’d not known it for what it truly was at the time – had allowed him to ascend to, Ezio found that he felt much better. Looking around, once he had managed to truly gain his footing upon the roof of the building, Ezio saw that the city did indeed seem to be at war.


	171. Francesco de’ Pazzi

He also saw that Francesco de’ Pazzi’s most ardent supporters were fighting in the courtyard, but before he could start to wonder too much about just where that Templar bastardo had gotten himself off to, Francesco appeared from behind the low wall bordering the roofline of the palazzo he’d thought to cower in until all the fighting had passed him by. Smiling grimly as he heard Francesco calling out to his guards, Ezio leaped the last remaining gap that stood between the roof he’d climbed to, and that of the Palazzo Vecchio before him.

Scaling the wall of the tower that Francesco was attempting to shelter himself within, Ezio soon found himself face-to-face with Vieri’s bastardo of a father; both men seemed, at the end, equally pitiful. Still, Ezio resolved to remember the lessons that Uncle Mario had taught him.

“Oh, the boy thinks himself a master swordsman!” Francesco mocked; Ezio narrowed his eyes at the bluster, but gave no other indication that he’d heard anything at all. “So, you’ve drawn some blood! My men will make short work of you, and then we’ll see to that little dove of ours!”

Swallowing a snarl at the Templar’s phrasing – his little Maria was no docile thing, and anyone who said different would face every blade that Ezio could lay his hands to – he drew his blade, even as Francisco screamed and babbled more meaningless words at him. The Templar had already said the only words that Ezio was going to give him.

“No one’s coming,” he said, narrowing his eyes just that much farther in his fury. “It’s just us, now.”

“Damn it!” Francesco snarled, whipping his sword around in a clear, desperate effort to ward Ezio off. “Damn you to hell! Get away from me!”

Leaping from the rooftop, the mad desperation of a man at the end of his life driving him on in spite of the clear fact that Ezio could see he had landed badly, Francesco ran. Following the Templar back down to the polished, fitted stone of the courtyard below, Ezio tailed the man until Francesco, fear having drained what little strength the Templar could have laid claim to, tripped and stumbled to the ground.

“Now Firenze will judge you for what you’ve done,” he growled, drawing his hidden blade back from where he’d driven it into Francesco’s body.

“It’s over,” the Templar muttered, light already beginning to fade from his eyes. “It’s all over.”

“Better to be content in this life, than aspire to it in the next,” he said, as gently as he could manage, under the circumstances. “Requiescat in pace.”

Rising slightly from his crouch, Ezio heard the far-off sounds of battle beginning to draw closer, and over that the shouting of Jacopo de’ Pazzi. He was clearly trying to rally a crowd against the Medici forces that still clashed with them in the palazzo courtyard, and just as clearly would need to be made to stop.

“I think I know a last service you might do, Pazzi,” he said, beginning his work.


	172. Glad tidings

Maria could feel her arms aching in earnest, as she raised her sword and braced herself for the next wave of Pazzi _bastardi_ that were forming up to attack her even as she watched. However, the sound of shouts and laughter from the Medici guardsmen all around her drew Maria’s attention to where they were all beginning to point. Not even bothering to smother her laughter at the sight of Francesco de’ Pazzi’s pathetic, dangling corpse, Maria quickly joined the rest of the Medici supporters in throwing rocks, twigs, and anything else they could scoop from the ground at the fleeing Pazzi dogs.

 

“ _Vittoria! Vittoria! Insieme per la vittoria!_ ”

 

The crowd around her cheered, whooping and hollering, even as Maria herself turned her eyes back to the rooftops to see if she could spot Ezio as he climbed down from the rooftops.

 

When she did finally manage to spot her brother, reaching up to wave to him as he leaped lightly into a nearby pile of leaves, Maria was quick to hurry over to the cart as her brother climbed out of it.

 

“You did it!” she called, happily rushing into her last brother’s embrace as he reached out for her in return.

 

“I did it,” Ezio said, smiling down at her. “And, I think I hear the people cheering _your_ name, as well, _sorellina_.”

 

She laughed softly. “Well, I suppose this celebration is for both of us, then, _fratello_.”

 

The pair of them embraced again, and Maria smiled all the wider as Ezio kissed the top of her head; true, there was still a great number of things that the pair of them had yet to do, but for the moment they could afford to rest from this latest battle.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

It was three days later, when the celebration and merry-making in the streets had calmed down enough that they wouldn’t run too much of a risk of interrupting Leonardo if he was hard at work on some project of his, when he and little Maria were able to make their way to his workshop so that Ezio could obtain the second hidden-blade that the inventor had been crafting for him. However, when he and little Maria arrived at Leonardo’s workshop, Ezio found that his second hidden-blade had not been the _only_ thing Leonardo had been working on.

 

Though, seeing little Maria with a hidden-blade of her own was about the strangest thing that Ezio had yet found himself having to face; still, he’d face it with as much aplomb as he could manage. Little Maria, having become rather charmed at Leonardo’s mad scheme of joining the birds in the air, had stayed behind to speak with the inventor on her own. Departing from Leonardo’s workshop, after thanking the inventor for all the help he’d given them over the course of the two years and some months that they’d worked with him, Ezio made his way back through the streets of Firenze, only to find himself coming face-to-face with a man he’d no expectation of meeting again.

 

“Angelo?”

 

“ _Il Magnifico_ asks that you meet him at the bank of the river Arno, _Messer_ Auditore,” the Medici guardsman said, a gentle smile lighting his features.

 

“ _Grazie_ for letting me know, _ser_ Angelo,” he said, returning the smile that he’d been offered; with interest, as any good banker would do.

 

Making his way to the indicated place, Ezio quickly found himself facing the upright, regal, though somewhat less than immaculate form of Lorenzo de’ Medici. The man all of Firenze – those parts of her that _mattered_ , anyway – had once more taken to calling _Il Magnifico_ was standing at the railing of a balcony overlooking the Arno, and seemed to have a wistful sort of air about him as he looked off into the rushing waters far below. Ezio was just starting to consider the merits of announcing himself, when the man who had been such close friends with his late, lamented father turned around on his own.

 

Stepping over to Lorenzo’s side, after a welcoming gesture from the Duke himself, Ezio took a moment to contemplate the rushing waters, as well.


	173. Family bonds

“When I was six years old, I fell into the Arno,” Lorenzo said, a small, wistful smile settling on his face. “I soon found myself drifting down and down, into darkness, certain my life was at an end. Instead, I woke to the sound of my mother weeping. At her side stood a stranger, soaking wet and yet smiling at me. My mother explained that he had saved me,” Lorenzo continued, smiling slightly wider, eyes softening with what was clearly fond nostalgia. “And, so began a long and prosperous relationship between our two families,” Lorenzo shook his head, smile fading as he rested his right hand on Ezio’s left shoulder. “I am truly sorry that I could not save your father and brothers.”

 

Ezio sighed. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he said, both because it was true, and because he wished to reassure Lorenzo that he’d no ill will against him for anything that had happened. “I believe Jacopo de’ Pazzi had a hand in their deaths. The attack on you, as well. I need to find him,” he continued, turning an expression of resolve on the man who was yet another living link to his father’s memory.

 

“That coward fled before we could arrest him!” Lorenzo snapped, annoyance and disgust darkening his expression.

 

“Have you any leads?” he asked, not wishing to believe that one of the Templars could have escaped him so easily.

 

“No,” Lorenzo said, regret chasing away the lingering traces of his frustrated fury. “They’ve hidden themselves well.”

 

“’They?’” he echoed, wondering just how much concerning the secret war of Assassins and Templars _Il Magnifico_ was truly aware of.

 

“Jacopo was not the only conspirator to escape,” Lorenzo said, shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

 

“If they worked with Jacopo, then they were surely involved in the plot against my family, as well,” he said, still unsure just how much it was that Lorenzo knew about the secret war that now consumed so much of his time and attention. “Give me their names,” he continued, trying to sound like he was making a request, rather than simply demanding outright.

 

“Antonio Maffei, Archbishop Francesco Salviati, Stefano de Bagnone, and Bernardo Baroncelli,” _Il Magnifico_ said, drawing himself back up with a serene, dignified sort of grace.

 

“ _Bene_ ,” he said, offering a gentle smile to the man whose friendship he had just reaffirmed. “I will go and see my uncle in Monteriggioni. He has a list of names these should be added to, and men stationed in the countryside.”

 

“Wait, before you go,” Lorenzo called, drawing Ezio’s attention before he could have turned and left.

 

“A Codex page!” he exclaimed, recognizing the scroll that _Il Magnifico_ handed over to him; he’d certainly seen enough of them, after taking over the search from Uncle Mario.

 

“I took it from the files of Francesco de’ Pazzi, seeing as he clearly no longer needs it,” Lorenzo said, a black-humored grin stretching his face. “I’ve always had something of an interest in things of antiquity. As did your father,” Lorenzo continued, smile softening as he spoke of the man they had both lost.

 

“It is meaningful to me, as well,” he assured the man, smiling as Lorenzo clapped him on both shoulders and the pair of them embraced.

 

“Then consider it a gift!” Lorenzo exclaimed, cheer returning to his face. “God save us all!” he and Lorenzo looked heavenward for a long moment, before Lorenzo smiled gently once more. “Your family’s home is safe, at the very least,” _Il Magnifico_ said, smiling calmly. “I put your old housekeeper, Annetta, in charge of some of my own people, and I will continue to have my guards ensure that no one who is not allowed in by my seal will be able to enter the premises.”

 

“ _Grazie_ ,” he said, sharing a formal kiss with the duke, before the pair of them parted ways.

 

Vanishing into the crowds was slightly more difficult, since his name and deeds were still being occasionally spoken of by the crowds – to say nothing of the embellishments those troublesome, wandering minstrels were making to the tale – but Ezio was soon able to find a space clear of milling people, and quickly made his way back up onto the rooftops. This had swiftly become one of the ways he most enjoyed to travel, not merely for the more practical concerns of stealth and speed that the method provided for him, but also because he liked the feel of the wind in his face, and the sheer thrill that scaling a wall or a tower never failed to lighten his spirits.

 

He couldn’t have explained it to someone who got it in their head to ask, but Ezio had a feeling that little Maria would have understood him without a word.

 

Once he’d made it back to Leonardo’s workshop, Ezio found his heart feeling all the lighter when he saw little Maria both bent over a drafting-table, a small spread of sketches between the pair of them.

 

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything _too_ important,” he said, when there came what seemed to be a lull in the conversation they were having.

 

Leonardo laughed, soft and delighted-sounding. “Not at all,” the inventor said, the smile on his face widening as he stood up and the pair of them embraced. “She was simply curious about my flying machine, so I was showing her my design sketches.”

 

“It was very interesting, _grazie_ ,” little Maria said, standing so that she, too, could share an embrace and a formal kiss with the inventor that the pair of them had steadily become friends with.

 

“I found something you might be interested in,” he said, once little Maria had made her way over to his side.

 

“Another Codex page,” Leonardo said, smiling brightly as Ezio handed over the scroll that Lorenzo had been kind enough to give to him. “Oh, and this one seems to have another blueprint on it.”

 

“I’ll come back tonight?” he prompted.

 

“ _Sí_ ,” the inventor said, smiling brightly. “I should have it translated by then,” he grinned wryly. “Though you’ll have to wait a bit longer for me to build whatever new kind of blade this is.”

 

“ _Grazie, amico mio_ ,” he said, as the inventor paused to give him a last, one-armed embrace, before hurrying off to see about the translation of the latest of the Codex pages he had been given.

 

Wrapping his right arm around little Maria’s narrow shoulders as the pair of them made their way out of Leonardo’s workshop at last, Ezio smiled as she hugged him around the waist. Leaning down to plant a kiss on his littlest sister’s right cheek, Ezio continued on his way to a quieter part of Firenze’s Artists Quarter, where the pair of them were able to scale the wall of a nearby building without being seen.

 

Taking a moment to breathe the open air of the city that lay under his feet, Ezio turned and determinedly made for the Mercato Vecchio once again; if nothing else, Gilberto would wish to know how he and little Maria were faring.


	174. Friendship of the Medici

It was always a bit strange, Maria couldn’t help but think, seeing so many people who had the same hair and eye coloring that she herself possessed when she and Ezio would return to the Mercato Vecchio to speak with Gilberto about what she and Ezio had done to drive the Templars back from their attempted conquests. Or else, what they had discovered regarding the movements of the Order. Still, she _was_ starting to become at least somewhat accustomed to their presence around her.

 

If nothing else, it was a reminder that, for all that her appearance had set her alone and apart for so long, there _were_ in fact others who would be able to understand her circumstances because they shared much of them.

 

She worked to hone her skills with the other Treasure Guardians, while Ezio spoke with Gilberto about what they’d found out, as well as their plans for returning to Monteriggioni so that they could tell Uncle Mario not only about their success in Firenze, but also of the other Templars who’d clearly pledged their aid to the men that had murdered her and Ezio’s father and brothers.

 

“ _Ser_ Angelo paid us a visit,” Ezio said, once the pair of them had met up at their cozy, reasonably appointed house once again.

 

“On his own?” she asked, wondering for a moment just what the guardsman would want with the pair of them.

 

“He said that _Il Magnifico_ sent him, with an invitation for the pair of us,” her last brother said, sounding like he was about as surprised as Maria now found herself.

 

After they’d made their explanations and said their farewells to Gilberto, and after she’d been quite thoroughly hugged by the kindly Treasure Guardians who had welcomed her into their circle almost as soon as they’d all laid eyes on her, she and Ezio made their way back out of the Mercato Vecchio. Following her last brother’s lead, even as Ezio himself followed the directions that had been given to him by Angelo. Once the three of them had made their way back to the _palazzo_ Medici, Maria found, to her and Ezio’s delight, that they had been invited for dinner and a night’s stay.

 

Also, considering Ezio’s previously-stated desire to return to Monteriggioni, Lorenzo was also kind enough to offer them the use of one of his carriages. Maria had to confess that she’d almost been expecting such a thing to happen. What _did_ come as something of a surprise was Luciano’s request to travel with them, as well as her fellow Treasure Guardian’s clear interest in and seeming connection to not only Uncle Mario, but to Father, as well.

 

Neither of them quite know just what that connection might be, though Maria has her suspicions, and she and Ezio make a promise that they’ll speak to Luciano and Uncle Mario both when they reach Monteriggioni again.

 

And, soon enough, they were out on the road and making good time back to Monteriggioni, with the promise of finding out just what it was that Luciano de’ Medici wished to speak to Uncle Mario about hurrying them on. Once their carriage had come within sight of the walled city itself, Maria allowed herself to relax, knowing that she and Ezio were just that much closer to finding out just what it was that Luciano wished to speak to speak to Uncle Mario about.

 

When the three of them climbed down from the carriage, taking their first steps onto the wooden floor of Uncle Mario’s well-appointed carriage house, Maria quickly fell into step with her brother, and the pair of them accompanied Luciano up to the main estate, and then into Uncle Mario’s study.

 

“It’s good to see you again, _nipoti_ ,” their uncle said, when the three of them had made their way into his study for the first time in weeks.

 

“It’s good to see you again, too, Uncle,” Ezio said, and Maria quickly echoed the sentiment, though by then she was almost unbearably curious about just what it was that had drawn Luciano de’ Medici to their home, one of her fellow Treasure Guardians or not.

 

“Now, I’m certain you’re both wondering why I came here,” the man himself said, pale yellow eyes bright with amusement to match the gentle smile spreading across his face.

 

“ _Sí_ , though I’m starting to suspect that your circumstances weren’t any happier than my littlest sister’s, to start out with,” Ezio said.

 

Luciano laughed, soft and reflective-sounding. “Well, you’d be right about that, _Messer_ Ezio,” her fellow Treasure Guardian paused, seeming to gather himself for the story he was about to tell.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Listening as Luciano told the story of how he, Lorenzo, and Giovanni had all met for the first time, Mario found himself smiling slightly as he considered the changes that the young man had undergone in the years that stood between the boy Luccio who’d possessed no last name, and Luciano de’ Medici. Gone was the child who’d tensed up at the sight of every new face that inevitably came into Lorenzo’s life, who’d gone limp as a doll whenever someone so much as stood over him, who had been incapable of reading even a single sentence, and who’d had no concept of the world outside the walls of the warehouse that he and his fellow Treasure Guardians who had been unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of the Templars had been kept.

 

Knowing what Luciano had been through so early in his life only made the sight of the young man he had grown into all the more satisfying; truly, this was what he and his fellow Assassins fought for: the right of every man, woman, and child to make their own choices.

 

And yes, the fact remained that safeguarding the peoples’ free will also sometimes meant that they were called upon to kill those who had become corrupted – either by the desire for power or the willful misuse of such – but, again, that was the price they paid for the work they did. The Templars, on the other hand, would willingly trade the lives and minds of everyone but themselves and their inner-circle for their own twisted idea of security. Seeing no end but their own desire for power over all things, whatever noble ideals the Templar Order had once possessed had long since become corrupted.

 

Still, if the Templars had not been so damnably determined to force their poisonous ideals onto the world at large, than Mario would not have had such an aversion to the Order as a whole; though he would still pursue the deaths of those who had killed his brother and two of his three nephews, of course.


	175. Return to Monteriggioni

Making his way over to what he’d come to call the Codex Wall, Mario considered once more just what it was that Ezio – and Giovanni before him, considering that the pair of them had possessed that same rare ability of second-sight – had seen when he looked at the slowly-growing collection of pages that he, Giovanni, and now Ezio himself had steadily worked to assemble. Truly, if there _were_ indeed something else written on these pages, only someone with the sight that Ezio had inherited from Altaïr would be able to see it.

 

Crossing his arms as he gave the Codex Wall a last look, Mario turned and made his way back out of his study; he’d arranged for the four of them to have dinner together, and in order to present himself as a proper host, he’d need to take the same opportunity he’d offered them. He’d need to bathe and change his clothes, dusty as they’d gotten from all his day’s labors, so that he would be able to have dinner with his family, as well as the boy that Giovanni had rescued, all those years ago.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

When the four of them had all gathered together at the table, washed and dried and with a hearty meal set out in front of them, Ezio still found his thoughts drifting toward Luciano again. Apparently, it had been Luciano – then calling himself Luccio, which seemed to have been a name he’d heard somewhere and decided to use for himself – who had been the one to ultimately lead Father and Uncle Mario to the warehouse where little Maria had been kept for the first few years of her life. In light of that, Ezio found himself much more kindly disposed towards the younger man.

 

Even without Luciano’s connection to the Medici family, Ezio would have found himself indebted to the man; however, he couldn’t deny that it was something of a relief, knowing that the debt he owed to Luciano de’ Medici would not, in fact, conflict with any of his other obligations.

 

Once dinner was finished, and the four of them were splitting up to head their separate ways, Ezio turned as Uncle Mario called to him.

 

“ _Sí_ , Uncle?” he called back, turning to make his way over as his uncle beckoned him to follow him. “What did you want to tell me?”

 

“We received the news from Firenze,” Uncle Mario said, smiling gently in a way that was proud and concerned at once; something Ezio had been seeing more and more often on his uncle’s face as their shared battle against the Templars wore on. “I’m glad to see that the pair of you gave such a good account of yourselves against Francesco and his supporters, but we all know that even the loss of another of their own will not be enough to drive the Templars back.”

 

“ _Sí_ , that is why I intend to go after Jacopo de’ Pazzi as soon as I can,” he said, knowing just as well as his uncle did that the Pazzi – while a clear and present danger in and of themselves – were just one of the many claws that the Templars had dug into the cities of Italia.

 

Fighting them, it sometimes seemed, was almost like what he imagined Heracles must have gone through, when the ancient Greek hero had found himself set against the Hydra; Ezio could only hope that his own struggle would not be so involved as that of the myth he’d been read those many times as a child.

 

“My spies reported that the man fled south, after his escape from Firenze,” Uncle Mario said, his expression becoming more grave with every word. “There is also another matter: Roberto and Orazio were forced from San Gimignano, and the city has once more become a stronghold for the Templars. I’m reasonably certain, in light of that, that Jacopo will seek shelter within the walls of that city,” his uncle sighed, shoulders slumping slightly under some invisible weight. “I hadn’t wanted to talk to you about this so soon, but after all that happened, I thought you might be more prepared for such a thing than I’d thought.”

 

Uncle Mario’s tone was still weary, and Ezio suspected that he knew why; more than anyone, at this moment, Ezio knew why his uncle wished for him to have at least _some_ respite from the battle that he’d been so unceremoniously pushed into the thick of. He, after all, wished the same for little Maria.

 

“I have more names for your list, Uncle,” he said, knowing that there was little enough that he could actually _do_ to assuage the man’s fears; truly, this was a battle that had chosen _him_ , far more than he’d chosen it, in the end.

 

“ _Bene_ ,” Uncle Mario said, taking the list as Ezio handed it over to him. “I expect that some of these men might well have even fewer resources to call upon than Jacopo, and so will be simpler to deal with. I will send out spies at dawn, see what information I might be able to gather. In the mean time, we must prepare to retake San Gimignano.”

 

“You and yours can prepare, but I have to send a message to Leonardo,” he said, having recalled what he’d asked of the inventor, and the plans that the pair of them had made while he’d been standing within the crowded mess that was Leonardo’s workshop. “He has another of the Codex pages, and I suspect that he’s already managed to translate it. He’ll be expecting me to return for it, and I don’t want to leave him wondering for any longer than I have to.”

 

“I’ll send your message with one of my curriers,” Uncle Mario said, a proud, pleased smile spreading across his face. “However, I would also like to ask a favor of you.”

 

“What favor would that be, uncle?”

 

“Stay here for the week, before you continue on,” Uncle Mario said, the smile on his face gentling even as it grew slightly wider. “Even if you _do_ intend to attempt to infiltrate the city, since one man alone may very well pass through barriers that an army cannot, and we _should_ be aiming to strike at the Templars when and where they feel most secure.”

 

“A _week_?” he echoed, not quite seeing the logic in his uncle’s request, but willing to be persuaded if the man did indeed have a convincing argument.

 

“There’s still a lot you need to learn, _nipote_ ,” the man said, smiling gently, though a tinge of sadness had overtaken his uncle’s expression, as well. “While I do understand your sadness at being forced to cut ties with the woman you had clearly come to love, I’m glad to know that you managed to bear up so well under the burden.”

 

Ezio sighed, trying to take what solace he could in his uncle’s approval. “ _Grazie_ , but I expect that’s not the only reason that you wanted me to stay for the week.”

 

“ _Sí_ ,” Uncle Mario said, his expression firming once more. “Healing isn’t the only reason I wish for you to spend more time here before you and little Maria leave, _nipote_. While I’m sure that it will do your heart good to stay among family, another matter I wish to attend to is your training. I want to see how much you’ve improved since we last saw each other, as well,” his uncle continued, a boisterous grin spreading across his face for the first time since this meeting of theirs had started.

 

Ezio chuckled softly, feeling much lighter than he had at the beginning of their meeting. “ _Va bene,_ Uncle. I won’t disappoint.”

 

“I know you won’t, _nipote_ ,” Uncle Mario said, grin still firmly in place.


	176. Puzzle pieces

It was indeed a week later, to the very day, when he and little Maria were able to depart from Monteriggioni with Uncle Mario’s blessing. It was also five days since they’d received Leonardo’s package by courier, one that had contained not only the blade that Leonardo had created from the blueprints in the Codex page that Ezio had showed to him, as well as the page itself, but also a smaller reproduction of the secondary Hidden Blade that the inventor had created some time earlier. It had been sized perfectly for little Maria, but he’d still watched with a bit of unease as she’d strapped it on.

 

He himself might not have had so much of a choice about taking up the cause of the Assassins, but that didn’t mean that he wished for the rest of his remaining family to become involved in this struggle of his; still, after the pair of them had heard the story of Luciano and his connection to both Father and Lorenzo de’ Medici, Ezio knew that he wouldn’t have felt right if he attempted to dissuade her from taking up the cause that he had already all but pledged himself to.

 

And so, the pair of them had made contact with a group of Uncle Mario’s mercenaries, taking up temporary residence with a group of them who had been stationed outside San Gimignano almost as soon as the Templars had retaken control of it, there to watch the comings and goings of men and materials through the gates. It was there, in the encampment where he and little Maria had taken up residence, that Ezio met up with the man who commanded this particular detachment: a tough-looking, clearly battle-hardened sergeant by the name of Gambalto.

 

He’d offered the pair of them a place beside the fire the night they’d arrived, and now they were eating bread with pecorino beside the man’s fellow mercenaries, with a mug of heavy Veraccia to wash it down.

 

“I think it’s a shame that Antonio Maffei ever left Volterra,” the man said, sounding as though he’d been pontificating on just that subject for some time, in spite of the fact that this was the first time that Ezio had heard him speak about such. “He’s got a bee in his bonnet about Lorenzo; thinks the Duke crushed his home town, when all he did was bring it under the wing of Firenze,” Gambalto shook his head, spitting to the side in clear contempt for the subject under discussion. “Now Maffei’s gone mad; he’s set himself up atop the cathedral tower, surrounded himself with Pazzi archers, and spends his days spouting scripture and arrows in equal measure,” Gambalto shook his head in disgust. “God alone knows what his plans are – to convert the people to his cause with sermons, or else to kill them with arrows – but so long as he remains up there, hate him though the people might, the city is powerless to stop him.”

 

“So, he would need to be dealt with, _sí_?”

 

“It would certainly weaken the Pazzi’s powerbase,” Gambalto said, beginning to grin slyly.

 

Ezio allowed himself a chuckle, as well. “ _Bene_. How well-defended is your madman, if I might ask?”

 

“Plenty of men on the watchtowers and at the gates,” Gambalto said, grin widening as he spoke. “Still, they change the guards at dawn, so a man who was smart, fast, and clever might just be able to make it over the walls and into the city unseen.”

 

Ezio grinned, amused pride welling within him. “And where might we find such a man, do you think?”

 

“ _Sí_ , that _is_ quite the problem, _fratello_ ,” little Maria, wicked imp that she was, said with the slyest kind of smile.

 

Wrestling her into laughing submission so that he could bop her on the head with at least _some_ impunity, Ezio huffed as he heard Gambalto laughing, as well.

 

“Well, I don’t suppose _anyone_ could doubt that the pair of you are brother and sister now,” the grizzled man said, a wide grin lighting his features.

 

All of those present around the fire laughed softly, and Ezio huffed again, forcing himself not to show the wide grin he could feel trying to stretch his lips. It wouldn’t do, after all, to let little Maria know she’d gotten one-up on him again. That would’ve taken _all_ the fun out of things.

  
_~AC: II~_

 

The next morning, well before dawn as the pair of them had agreed on, she and Ezio made their way swiftly and silently over the walls of San Gimignano, scaling them and dropping silently to the other side. As she and Ezio scaled the walls of a pair of nearby buildings, the pair of them broke off from each other the way they had planned, Maria turning her attention to eliminating any guard who might have been foolish enough to attempt an attack on her brother when he was making his way back out of the city after dealing with Maffei.

 

Steadying her breathing as she continued on her way, Maria paused for a moment as she spotted one of the guards below her, just making his way toward what seemed to be his post. Carefully positioning herself so that she stood above the man, Maria dropped silently down onto the man, hidden blades poised to take his life. Once her task was done, she hid the corpse under a raggedy bush, and quickly made her way back up onto the rooftops. Taking care not to draw too close to the place where Ezio was making his own rounds of the city below them, a task made all the simpler since she could hear the voice of the man her brother was hunting, Maria continued searching for the guards who stood in his way.

 

Who stood in _their_ way, if she wished to be precise.


	177. Antonio Maffei

“ _Requiescat in pace_ ,” he said at last, tucking the letter he had retrieved from Maffei’s corpse into the inner-pocket of his robes.

 

He’d not had an easy time making his way up to the man, with not only the Pazzi archers he’d heard of from Gambalto, but also Pazzi _crossbowmen_ to evade as he made his way up the side of the tower where Maffei had tried to shelter himself atop while he rained down terror and death upon the people who might have otherwise sought to bring him down.

 

Now, with this latest task of his over and done with, Ezio found that he was as eager as ever to make his way back out of the city so that he could take at least _some_ rest before he was called upon to take up yet another task for the Assassins. Smiling as he found his way free of the guards and archers who’d have otherwise troubled him, Ezio reminded himself to thank little Maria for her good work once the pair of them had met up outside the city. He also reminded himself to sit down for a _proper_ breakfast once he met up with the rest of Uncle Mario’s mercenaries, considering he’d only had strip of dried meat on his way out of the camp before dawn.

 

However, Ezio suspected that his _stomach_ would do a much better job of reminding him of that than his brain.

 

Chuckling softly as he scaled the large wall that guarded the city, Ezio allowed himself to relax from the state of frantic alertness he’d been operating on while he and little Maria had been in danger of being spotted by the guards – particularly the _Pazzi_ guards – inside San Gimignano. Staying to the shadows beneath the sparse trees and shrubs, using them for what cover they could provide until he was well out of sight of any guardsman who might have retaken their posts.

 

“Ezio!”

 

“ _Buon giorno, sorellina_!” he called, sharing a cheerful, relieved embrace with his littlest sister when the pair of them met up on their way back to the camp.

 

“Your presence brings us good fortune!” Gambalto said, laughing as he made his way over to the pair of them; really, the whole of the camp seemed to be in high spirits. “Our scouts have tracked down Archbishop Salviati!”

 

“Where?” he asked.

 

“Not far from here,” Gambalto said, still seeming pleased. “Do you see that mansion, on the hill over there?”

 

“ _Sí_ ,” he said, after a look in the indicated direction.

 

“He’s there,” Gambalto said, then paused for a moment, as though remembering himself. “But first I must ask you, _Capitano_ , how did you fare in the city?”

 

“There will be no more hateful sermons from that tower,” he said, wondering for a moment about the way Gambalto had chosen to address him.

 

“The people will bless you, _Capitano_ ,” Gambalto’s smile let Ezio know that the mercenary _hadn’t_ misspoken when he’d addressed Ezio; or, at least the man didn’t think he had.

 

“I am no captain,” he said, as little Maria smiled at him.

 

“To us you are,” Gambalto said, with the conviction of a man who believed utterly in what he was saying. “Take a detachment of my men. Salviati is heavily guarded, and the mansion is a sturdy, fortified building.”

 

“ _Va bene_ ,” he said, nodding. “Stay here, _sorellina_ ,” he directed little Maria, continuing on before she could think of a reason to object. “There’s little cover between here and there, and I’d rather not risk you in battle against these Templar dogs.”

 

“ _Va bene, fratello_ ,” little Maria said, smiling gently. “If it really worries you _that_ much, I’ll stay behind with the men.”

 

“ _Grazie, sorellina_ ,” he said, leaning down slightly so that the pair of them could embrace, sharing a kiss as they did. “It’s good that the eggs are close together,” he said, grinning at Gambalto as he straightened up once more. “Almost all in one nest.”

 

“The others cannot be far away,” Gambalto said, smiling. “We will endeavor to find them during your absence.”

 

“ _Grazie_ ,” he said. “Stay safe, _sorellina_.”

 

“I will, _fratello_ ,” she said, smiling back up at him even as he turned to depart. “ _Buona fortuna_!”


	178. Francesco Salviati Riario

Turning to leave, with a last smile for his littlest sister and the men he’d been traveling in the company of, Ezio pulled aside a dozen of Gambalto’s best hand-to-hand fighters, taking the lead as the thirteen of them made their way across the fields that separated their encampment from the fortified mansion that Salviati had taken shelter in. Fanning his men out, but making sure that they still remained in shouting distance from one another, Ezio drove them all forward.

 

The Pazzi sentries were easily evaded or neutralized, for the most part, but Ezio still ended up losing two of his own men in the approach.

 

He’d been hoping to take the mansion by surprise, while its defenders were still unaware of his presence, but the loss of two of his own had evidently let them know that he was coming. Still, even without the benefit of surprise, Ezio was determined to press forward. When he came up to the main gates of the mansion, however, a man dressed in the robes of an archbishop appeared on the walls above them.

 

The man gripped the battlements with clawlike hands, peering down on Ezio and his own like a vulture sighting for carrion, then quickly withdrew before a single one of them could make a move against him.

 

“Salviati,” Ezio muttered, almost growling; here, then, was another of the men who served the Templars and their Pazzi dogs.

 

The last of the guards who had been posted, if there had been any posted at all, had either fled to the inner-sanctum of the mansion. Either way, Ezio beckoned to the mercenaries that remained, calling them forward so that they would be out of the range of any Pazzi archers who poked their heads back out over the walls. There was no doubting that Salviati would have consolidated the remaining forces that he had gathered around himself within the walls of the mansion where he was sheltering.

 

The walls themselves were high and wide enough to seem unbreachable, and for a long moment Ezio wondered if he would be best served attempting to climb it, and then let his men in through the gate that he would then open. However, there would be little chance of him evading the Pazzi guards if he did that, since not a one of them would have been dull enough to let him if he did such a thing.

 

Motioning his mercenaries to stay out of sight, Ezio crouched low to the ground, moving carefully through the tall grass toward one of the Pazzi guardsmen that had been killed during their initial rush for the mansion’s walls. Stripping the corpse of its uniform, Ezio quickly undressed and changed his clothes, hoping that he would be mistaken for one of the Pazzi dogs still within the mansion’s walls. Given the first reaction of his own mercenaries, before he handed over his old clothes for them to hold, Ezio felt slightly more confident that he would manage in this case.

 

Banging upon the barred gate with the pommel of his sword, Ezio called out in a rough tone that he hoped would pass muster with the guardsmen still alive beyond the gates. “Open up! In the name of the Father of Understanding!”

 

As soon as he heard the bolts being pulled back to allow him and his access to the interior of the building, Ezio signaled his remaining mercenaries and together the eleven of them stormed the gates, before the remaining Pazzi dogs could raise so much as a single sword to stop them. Finding that he and his now stood in the courtyard, just beyond the swing of the gates they had just stormed, Ezio looked up at the looming form of the mansion that now stood revealed before them. He could see the three wings of the building, with Salviati himself standing at the top of the flight of stairs running up the center of the main wing.

 

“Filthy treachery!” Salviati bellowed, as a full dozen Pazzi guardsmen – burlier and looking more menacing than the ones that he and his had dispatched earlier – interposed themselves between Ezio’s loyal group of loyal mercenaries and the Templar archbishop. “But, you and your dogs will not escape this place so easily as you came in, Assassin! Kill them!” Salviati roared, thunderous gaze falling back upon his troops. “Kill them all!”

 

The remainder of the Pazzi guardsmen closed in around the eleven of them; however, his men were not Pazzi dogs, serving at the behest of their Templar master. No, his men had been trained under the steady hand and unflinching eye of Mario Auditore, and were hence more than a match for the Pazzi surrounding them, allowing Ezio himself to turn his attention to Salviati. Unleashing his poisoned blade with the slightest twist of his left wrist, Ezio waded, slashing, into the crowd of Pazzi bearing down on him.

 

Even a nick with the blade attached to his left bracer, filled with a poison that Leonardo distilled for him, was enough to knock the Pazzi guardsmen he was facing off of their feet, sending them dizzily to the ground, clutching the wounds that he’d inflicted. Not a one of them rose again.

 

“You are indeed a demon!” Salviati snarled, as Ezio cleared the last of the Pazzi guardsmen standing between the pair of them, retracting his poisoned blade and drawing the dagger he’d also come armed with. “From the Fourth Ring of the Ninth Circle!”

 

“This is your last chance,” he snapped, not about to give the Templar the satisfaction of baiting him into an argument on the man’s own terms; the Templars, if they _had_ ever been Christian in the first place, had abandoned all pretence of faith when they had turned their gaze to the levers of power. “Tell me, where is Jacopo de’ Pazzi!”

 

“You will have nothing from _me_ , demon!”

 

“Spare me your pretensions of piety! I know what you and all of your kind are _truly_ out for!” he snarled, laying his dagger across the man’s bared throat, keeping a firm hold on the ornate collar of his robes. “Now, tell me where Jacopo has hidden himself!”

 

“Night guards us where we meet,” Salviati spat, defiance in every line of his face and body. “Now, finish your business!”

 

“So, you skulk like the cowards you are under the cover of darkness? _Bene_ ,” he allowed, biting down on the rage he still felt, with one of the men responsible – even if only in the most cursory sense – for the death of his father and brothers under his blade. “I will ask you one more time, _where is Jacopo_?!”

 

“The Father of Understanding knows that what I do now, I do for the greater good,” Salviati said, the defiance in him not diminishing in the slightest, even as he threw himself onto the blade of Ezio’s dagger, opening his throat and spilling a fountain of blood down the front of his ornate, white-and-yellow robes.

 

“ _Cazzo_!” Ezio growled, letting the corpse fall to the ground, quickly stepping over it to rejoin the mercenaries that he’d come in alongside.

 

It seemed as though he would have no more answers than that, on this particular outing. Calling Uncle Mario’s mercenaries back to his side, Ezio felt a pang of sadness as he realized that they had lost yet another of their own during the engagement with the Pazzi troops guarding Salviati. Promising himself that he would report all of them to Gambalto, and also learn the names of the men who had given their lives to aid the cause of the Assassins and all that he and his family fought for, Ezio hurried quickly out of the now-deserted grounds of the mansion.

 

“ _Capitano_ , Gambalto sent me to find you,” one of the scouts he’d seen at the edges of the camp where he and little Maria had been staying said, reining in his horse.

 

“What news?” he asked, knowing that one of these men would not have been sent out for anything that was not a matter of grave importance.

 

“Stefano de Bagnone, _Capitano_ ,” the scout said, sounding pleased. “We’ve discovered where the rat has hidden himself.”

 

“ _Bene_ ,” he said, grinning in response; it seemed as though he’d another chance to find what he sought, in spite of Salviati’s determination to see the Templars’ secrets taken with him to his grave. “We’ll follow your lead, then.”

 

“ _Sí_ , _Capitano_ ,” the scout said, turning his horse back around.


	179. Stefano de Bagnone

After he and the rest of his uncle’s men had all retaken their mounts, Ezio signaled for them to fall in behind the scout, and they swiftly set off once more.

 

“So, where _did_ Bagnone try to hide himself?” he asked, feeling a certain, grim satisfaction that he would soon be able to come to grips with yet another of the men who had proven themselves enemies of Firenze and all of the people living within her.

 

“Within the walls of Monte Oliveto Maggiore,” the scout reported; Ezio smiled thinly, more than ready to have done with another of the Templars. “Here,” the scout said, handing over a bag that felt like it had been stuffed with four large, heavy balls. “These will help you to create a distraction while you work.”

 

“ _Grazie_ ,” he said, taking the bag and hefting it, before tying it quickly to his waist.  
  
“Continue along this road, _Capitano_ , and you’ll be certain to find him,” the scout said.

 

“You’ve been a great help to me, _amico_ ,” he said, clapping the scout on the shoulder, before swiftly dismounting and making his way forward.

 

Using the second-sight that had already made so many of his other tasks so very much easier, Ezio continued down the road at a brisk clip, quickly finding himself standing in the shadow of the abbey where Bagnone had attempted to take shelter. Controlling his breathing with the iron discipline that he’d learned so well under the guidance of Uncle Mario and the mercenaries that served under him, Ezio blended into the crowd making its way toward the abbey.

 

It came as something of a surprise, then, to learn that Bagnone had not yet managed to shelter himself within the walls of the abbey. Still, the Templar was clearly looking to do so, and Ezio knew well that he needed to keep such a thing from happening. And so, pacing Bagnone as the man ranted and raved to one of the monks within the abbey, Ezio narrowed his eyes as he spotted an opportune moment to strike. And, with a single breath, did just that.

 

“Now I will see who was right…” Bagnone said, sounding oddly… content, considering his fate.

 

“Where is Jacopo?”

 

“Nothing to fear, I suppose…” Bagnone breathed. “They meet in the shadow of the Roman gods…”

 

“Be free of your fear now,” he said, gentling his tone as he spoke. “ _Requiescat in pace_.”

 

Standing as he heard the sounds of guards and men-at-arms coming for him, Ezio quickly took out one of the spheres from his bag and threw it to the ground. The smoke bomb – he’d recognized them from those times when he and Federico would get into mischief together, though for the life of him he’d never expected to use them to escape from anything more dire than angry shopkeepers and farmers – burst in a flurry of white power upon impact, and Ezio took swift advantage of the confusion to escape.

 

Breathing all the easier once he’d made it beyond the walls of the abbey, and firmly off the road as well, Ezio looked up at the sound of hoofbeats and a familiar salutation.

 

“So, it’s done?” the scout asked, leading the horse that Ezio had been riding.

 

“ _Sí_ ,” Ezio said, taking care as he mounted his horse once again. “Bagnone has joined his fellow Templars, and I have a bit more information about where those _bastardi_ are meeting.”


	180. The seal of Wei Yu

“ _Bene_ ,” the scout said, nodding. “I’ll make my report to Gambalto, then,” the scout said, pausing for a moment as a thought seemed to strike him. “Your sister offered to go into the town to purchase supplies. She’s well enough,” the scout said quickly, clearly seeing the worry that had bloomed on Ezio’s face when hearing those words. “However, see seems to have found something of interest; she sent Illusio back with the supplies, as well as a message to the effect that she would be guarding that something of hers until you got back to look at it.”

 

“ _Va bene_ ,” he said, feeling a bit better about the situation, though it would’ve been a lie to say that he didn’t wish things could have been different. “I’ll go find this _something_ of hers, then.”

 

Parting ways with the scout, Ezio made his way into the small town – almost small enough to be called a village, really – to see what little Maria had managed to find. And, just why in the world she considered it important enough to take up a position guarding it. As he made his way through the town’s narrow streets, Ezio found himself almost instinctively searching the faces of those around him. He’d noticed that the people who lived and worked within Monteriggioni seemed to be content for the most part, some of them happy, and all of them looked to be well fed and clothed.

 

It was a thing that Uncle Mario had instructed both him and little Maria to keep an eye out for, so that they might be a good ruler from a bad; Uncle Mario had informed the pair of them that, while a man could easily clothe his destructive actions in soft words so that they might better deceive the unwary, the results of those actions would always tell, in the end. The people would not long be fooled by such things.

 

The people going about their business in this small town seemed as cheerful and content as anyone could ask for, and so Ezio continued on his way forward.

 

Soon enough, he managed to spot the familiar, white-hooded form of his littlest sister, waiting for him just the way the scout had said that she would be. She seemed to have stationed herself just above the entrance to a dim, narrow alleyway, but quickly leaped back down to the ground when she spotted him.

 

“You found something?”

 

“ _Sí_ , _fratello_ ,” she said, nodding and making her way over to the small, familiar alcove; it was almost invisible within the dimness of the alleyway where they stood, but Ezio had seen such a thing before. “I remembered you telling me about a strange thing you found before, and so I thought you might be interested in this, too.”

 

“ _Grazie, sorellina,_ ” he said, grinning widely as he leaned down to kiss little Maria on both cheeks. “This will be quite the boon, once I go and fetch it.”

 

That said, Ezio quickly turned his attention to the latch mechanism for the hidden door that he and little Maria now stood before, triggered it, and quickly departed down the tunnel that had been revealed. Breathing steadily, Ezio was somewhat surprised to have found himself in what seemed to be a catacomb that had flooded some time in the past. There were water marks on the walls above where he now stood, and the water that remained looked too deep to comfortably stand in. And so, not wishing to take a chance with whatever could be waiting in the depths – the water smelled stagnant, though thankfully not like any kind of sewer – Ezio scaled the walls and continued on his way.

 

He found that the place he was passing through, for all that it seemed to resemble the one he’d seen before, also seemed to have been a storehouse of some kind. He’d passed a fair number of empty shelves on his way through the catacomb, and what were clearly weapons – old, dusty, and in need of maintenance though they were – and the remains of what seemed to have been other floors, though time and lack of care had clearly caused them to crumble away.

 

It was a sad sort of thing, Ezio reflected, making one’s way through a place that still held the remnants of those who had once lived and worked there, but finding no one and nothing inside; truly, it was the same way he’d felt when he’d stopped to pay his last respects to the _palazzo_ where he and his family had once lived.

 

Sighing, Ezio quickly returned his full attention to the task before him; he could afford to reminisce once he’d cleared the last of the obstacles.

 

Passing through what seemed to have been an underground settlement – with buildings and even _windows_ that looked down into the sunless streets below – Ezio shuddered, just the slightest bit unnerved. He’d not have thought that there would have been actual _people_ living so far beneath the ground; storage rooms and training grounds he was able to understand, to live all one’s life without fresh air or the sight of the sky…? Ezio shuddered again, and was glad to move on.

 

Once he came to what looked to be a well-appointed library, this one far better lit than any of the catacombs he’d been traveling through prior, Ezio felt some of the tension humming in his nerves lift at the sight. Yes, he still did not quite know just where he would ultimately be able to find the seal he was looking for, but there was no denying that he felt better simply for the fact that he did not seem to be nearly as far underground as he had been when he started out. And, the farther he could distance himself from that buried settlement he’d passed through not all that long ago, the better Ezio knew he would feel.

 

Climbing up to the second level of the library, Ezio made his way past a pair of windows that were letting in actual daylight – though not closely enough that he could get any kind of good look out through them – and felt himself relax all the more when he realized that he’d come out of the catacombs entirely. Yes, like as not, they _were_ extremely useful for evading the gaze of any Templars who might have taken it into their heads to follow him, but Ezio could admit that the underground settlement in _this_ particular catacomb had unsettled him enough that he simply wished to leave.

 

After making his way up to the third level of the library that he now stood in, Ezio began to hear the sounds of people inside, and knew that he would have to be quick and quiet if he wished to find the seal he was looking for, without ending up endangering himself or anyone else.

 

Happily enough, however, Ezio found that the next path he would need to take was up the inside of an empty tower, and so he would _not_ need to worry for the health of anyone who had not chosen to involve themselves in the age-old battle between the Assassins and the Templars.

 

After making his way to the top of the tower, his arms feeling like freshly-beaten dough for the effort, Ezio took a long moment to catch his breath and relax his body from the arduous task that he’d just accomplished. Yes, he was not a lazy man, but Ezio was certain that anyone who had been able to observe him as he progressed up the height of the tower would have fully understood his need for the rest he was taking.

 

Once he’d managed to catch his breath and refresh his once-flagging stamina, Ezio made his way up to the tomb of the Assassin who’d been laid to rest in this place – he’d begun to recognize it as _Torre Grossa_ while he’d been climbing his way up through the three-leveled library – with a definite sense of satisfaction. Pausing briefly to pay his respects to the long-departed Assassin, Ezio retrieved the seal from their resting place, and departed silently from the room.

 

Making his way up and out through a trapdoor set into the ceiling to his right, Ezio breathed deeply of the fresh air, once he stood at the top of the tower that had given the building he’d just departed its name.

 

 _Well now, that was quite the bit of exercise for today,_ he reflected amusedly, making his way back down among the buildings that stood at a more normal height. Knowing that it would likely be best if he and little Maria returned to Monteriggioni; Uncle Mario would want to know about what he’d done, and there was also the matter of the seal he now carried. It would be best if he returned it to its place quickly, rather than waiting and risking the chance that he would forget to do so.

 

And so, pausing a moment to search for the littlest of his sisters, Ezio quickly made his way to the rooftop where she had stationed herself.

 

“Did it go well, _fratello_?” she asked, looking excited and curious at once.

 

“ _Sí, sorellina_ , it did,” he said, grinning as he drew her into a warm embrace and kissed little Maria on both cheeks. “I’ll tell you what it was like inside while we travel.”


	181. More mysteries

“Where are we going, _fratello_?”

 

“We’re heading back to Monteriggioni,” he said, as the pair of them climbed down from the rooftops and continued on their way through the streets.

 

“I suppose that makes sense,” he heard his littlest sister say, a contemplative tone to her voice.

 

Nodding, as the pair of them blended with the crowds for a long moment, before breaking off to meet up with Uncle Mario’s mercenaries again. All of them still seemed to be pleased to be rid of two more of the Templars that troubled them, and it seemed as though more than a few of them were looking to him with a sense of expectation in their eyes. He knew that Uncle Mario had trusted him with the command of this group for a reason, yet he couldn’t help wishing – at times – that things could have been different.

 

He couldn’t stop wishing that he could have been faster, in those breathless moments just before the ropes had tightened about the necks of Father and their brothers.

 

Sighing, Ezio paused for a moment before he informed Gambalto of his plans to return to Monteriggioni. The mercenary sounded pleased to hear it, and offered him further use of the horses that he and little Maria had rode into San Gimignano in the first place. He’d thanked the man, both for his present generosity and for the aid that his soldiers had provided to him and little Maria while they hunted for the three Templars who had been present in the area. Then, once their goodbyes had all been said and their saddlebags packed for travel again, he and little Maria departed again.

 

After a long few days and nights spent on the road, he and little Maria had come within sight of the walled city that Uncle Mario’s villa stood sentry over, and Ezio found himself smiling all that much wider as he caught sight of the runner that had clearly been sent out to meet them.

 

“ _Buon giorno_ , Ezio,” the man said, reining in his horse and falling into step with the pair of them. “ _Messer_ Mario sent me out to tell you that he wants you to meet him in his study.”

 

“ _Grazie_ ,” he said, smiling at the man, even as the three of them rode into the city and the gates were shut behind them. “I’ll be sure to go and meet him right away.”

 

Once the three of them had brought their horses back into the care of the stable master, and after little Maria had bid him a fond farewell, the pair of them parted company; Ezio fell into step with Mercurio, and little Maria left to speak with Claudia about what the pair of them had been about while they were away. Thanking Mercurio for his company, Ezio continued on his way into Uncle Mario’s study on his own.

 

“Welcome back, _nipote_!” Uncle Mario called, a jovial smile on his face as the pair of them embraced and kissed each other upon both cheeks. “I’ve heard news of your successes, _nipote_. It’s good that you are making so much progress so quickly; I’ve little doubt that your present victories will drive the Templars to increasing levels of desperation.”

 

“I hope so,” he allowed himself to admit, knowing that Uncle Mario wouldn’t take it the wrong way. “I confess, I just want this to be over.”

 

“ _Sí, nipote,_ I know how you feel,” the older man said, single eye softening in understanding. “Still, _nipote_ , none of us can truly afford to give up on our work. This might not have been the life you would have chosen for yourself, but every one of us has a responsibility to the people the Templars would otherwise enslave.”

 

“ _Sí_ , uncle, I know,” he said, sighing as the sheer scope of the task he had still before him pressed down on him like an invisible weight.

 

“For now, however, I’ve been looking over the translations that your friend from Firenze sent over,” Uncle Mario looked thoughtful for a moment. “It’s interesting that Vieri and his father possessed pages that were evidently so close together in the original text,” he said, turning a glance back on Ezio; Ezio nodded, looking back at the wall and all of the old pages spaced about upon it. “Now, let’s see what…”

 

“What is it, Uncle?”

 

“It appears to be referring to a prophet of some kind,” uncle said, sounding as though he were staring at a puzzle whose pieces he couldn’t quite make fit together. “Not the one spoken of in the Bible, but a living one… or else, one who is to come.”

 

“What does that mean, uncle?” he asked, feeling more confused than ever.

 

“I don’t quite know, _nipote_ ,” Uncle Mario said, turning a thoughtful expression towards the wall of scattered Codex pages that had been assembled so far. “So far as I can make out, it says “only the Prophet may open it,” and also makes reference to two Pieces of Eden,” he continued, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You might very well end up encountering other Guardians,” the older man looked back to him, seeming to resolve himself to whatever he thought was to come. “We’ll have to find more pages of the Codex, if we’re to make any further progress in unraveling this mystery.”

 

“ _Sí,_ uncle,” he said, nodding. “I’ll keep that in mind.”


	182. Home and away

“Of course, _nipote_ ,” their uncle said, smiling gently once again. “Get some rest; you’ve no doubt had a long journey.”

 

“ _Grazie_ , uncle,” he said, as the pair of them embraced a last time, before he made his way back out.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Paying a visit to Mother, while she _was_ pleased to see the progress of her recovery, would always serve as a sad reminder of what had ultimately happened to her; to them all, really. And so, in _that_ light, Maria could honestly say that she was _glad_ to be returning to Firenze again, even though they _would_ be returning to their hunt for the Templars that had killed Father and their brothers. And so, as she and Ezio boarded Uncle’s carriage, Maria settled back into her seat and turned to watch the scenery as it passed by on either side.

 

When the pair of them had returned to the Mercato Vecchio, reuniting with Gilberto, his thieves, and the other Treasure Guardians that had taken up residence alongside them, their fellow Assassin looked entirely pleased to see them. She was just as pleased to see him again, and all the moreso when Ezio suggested that she get herself reacquainted with the thieves and her fellows while he spoke with Gilberto about the progress the pair of them had been making while they were away.

 

Once he’d finished with that, and the pair of them had met back up on the rooftops of Firenze, Maria took a deep breath of the clear, clean air that only truly seemed to exist at this height.

 

After a moment to discuss just where it was that they were going to go to next, Maria quickly fell in behind the last of her brothers as the pair of them made their way across the city.

 

“Where do you think we should go next, _fratello_?”

 

“I heard from Gilberto that Luciano de’ Medici wishes to speak with us,” Ezio said, and Maria raised her eyebrows.

 

She’d not thought to hear anything further from her fellow Treasure Guardian after the pair of them had parted company. Then, however, she recalled that – even aside from the fact that their respective families were close friends and allies, which was sadly _not_ always a certain thing – Luciano had seemed particularly sympathetic to her when the two of them had met for the first time. Knowing that, Maria realized that it made complete sense that Luciano would want to speak with them again.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

Once the pair of them had met up with the youngest of Lorenzo’s brothers – and the only one that the man himself had adopted – Ezio was informed of yet another thing that he hadn’t been aware of, with regards to his father’s work. Father had apparently been doing far more for Firenze than just making sure that all of her finances were kept well in line; he’d also hunted down Firenze’s enemies, with the help of those who had been informed of his status.

 

And, now that he knew such a thing and had the skill to best the caliber of enemies he was to find himself set against, Ezio had been asked to take over even that duty of Father’s.


	183. Hunting ground

He’d agreed quickly, of course, knowing that not only did he owe the Medici as a whole more than could be easily repaid, but also that Lorenzo was an avowed supporter of the Assassins and their cause. Also, it was no great undertaking; the targets he was given consisted in the main of corrupted merchants, arms dealers who had been convinced to give their support to the enemies of the Medici and hence of Firenze as a whole, and in some rare cases, even thugs who were threatening those who had come into a bit of bad fortune and couldn’t pay off the exorbitant loans that those same corrupted merchants had offered them. Offered them, often at the point of a sword or dagger.

 

It was those in particular whose removal Ezio was the most pleased to be tasked with.

 

Sometimes, however, it would be one of the citizens about Firenze herself who would spot his hooded cloak and ask him to perform some kind of helpful service for them. Those jobs, of course, seemed to call upon his old set of skills: those he’d developed scrapping with Pazzi dogs, in the days before Assassins or Templars had meant anything more to him than some obscure lesson in a history book somewhere. He’d been invited to participate in the odd race through Firenze’s more deserted quarters, asked to teach a few cheating husbands the error of their ways, and even tasked with delivering letters to those who lived in different quarters of Firenze and yet wished to stay in correspondence with one another.

 

Lorenzo had advised him that making himself available to perform such favors for the people of Firenze, or even just appearing amenable as he went about his tasks, would make the people around him far more apt to turn a blind eye when he needed to work in secret; Ezio had never found such a thing to be untrue.

 

As things stood at present, however, he and little Maria found themselves staring down at a missive from Uncle Mario himself; a missive calling them both back to San Gimignano. It wasn’t something that Ezio had had much of a reason to expect, but then _he_ wasn’t the one with full access to the spy-network that their uncle had gathered and maintained. And so, bidding their fond farewells to Lorenzo and Luciano, as well as giving their regards to the Medici as a whole, he and little Maria had departed for Toscana once more.

 

When the pair of them had arrived in San Gimignano once more, having been taken there aboard another of Lorenzo’s carriages, Ezio found the city to be much as he and little Maria had left it. It was something that both he and his littlest sister had noticed about the pace of life out in the countryside: it never truly seemed to change. They’d both agreed, therefore, that they were much happier living in a city like Firenze.

 

If nothing else, things could always be could always be counted on to be exciting in such a place.


	184. Travels in Tuscany

Once the pair of them had reconnected with Gambalto and his mercenaries, the way that Uncle Mario had wished for them to do, Ezio found himself easily falling back into the place that he’d been accorded those other times he’d had occasion to work with this group of his uncle’s mercenary corps. He also found himself put to nearly the same type of work that he’d been doing in Firenze under the guidance of Luciano de’ Medici. It felt a bit strange, to find himself set to those same types of tasks in such a small town as he had in a city like Firenze.

 

Still, he supposed that – wherever one might find themselves in the world – people would still be people; it was one of the things the Assassins fought for, even if they _were_ sometimes called upon to kill those who had allowed themselves to become corrupted by the power they had been given.

 

Having returned some time from a contract assassination that had taken him well outside the main town of San Gimignano, Ezio blended easily into a crowd and let them conceal him as he made his way back inside. Because, while the citizens had become steadily more accustomed to and accepting of his presence among them as he’d proved himself willing and able to carry out the small and not-so-small tasks that they felt bold or comfortable enough to ask of him, the guards in the places he was foreign to had always and would always be another matter. And, as he’d little desire to take the lives of men who were like as not simply trying to support themselves and their families, Ezio made certain to avoid them when he could.

 

After several more such things had been asked of him – Ezio having been asked to deliver several letters, assassinate a few more enemies of Firenze that had tried to hide themselves away among the people of San Gimignano, and even invited to participate in a couple of races that had been unofficially held, away from the watchful eyes of the guards – Ezio allowed himself to relax for a few moments. Yes, there still remained things that he would doubtless need to do in order to further establish himself as a fixture of this town, as well as to give the Brotherhood as a whole a foothold in the town, but given all he’d been doing during the course of his various stays, Ezio felt at least reasonably comfortable allowing himself to sit on a bench and simply watch the crowds go by.

 

Of course, such relaxation as he was able to find was a short-lived thing, and Ezio soon found himself asked to carry letters for a man who seemed to have friends in the most out of the way places.

 

Which was how he’d found himself riding out into the vast fields that bordered the town, searching for three people who lived at the absolute edges of what could have plausibly been called San Gimignano’s outskirts. It had been quite the long journey, and so once Ezio had finished delivering the last of the letters, he and little Maria met up and made their way to a modest tavern to have dinner together. The pair of them had been making themselves available all about the town for errands, and he’d heard good things about the littlest of his sisters, though he _was_ rather disappointed to learn that there were still those who found her appearance too off-putting to do more than glance quickly at her and then turn away.

 

Yes, Ezio _was_ pleased that none of them had actually attacked her, but he could also see that their callous disregard had hurt her, all the same.

 

For too long a moment, Ezio found himself entirely too tempted to find those people who had hurt her, but he quickly shook those thoughts away, putting them aside so he could think properly. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he allowed himself to forget that these people – for all their preconceptions – were those that the Assassins had vowed to protect. And also that if he attempted to _force_ the people of San Gimignano to think differently about his littlest sister, not only would something like that ultimately prove counterproductive and utterly futile, it would make Ezio himself little better than the Templars, in the end.

 

And so, Ezio forced himself not to think about the muted sadness that he’d seen in little Maria’s eyes whenever she had thought he wasn’t really _looking_ in her direction; trying to focus on finding either a lead on just where another one of those Templar _bastardi_ had hidden himself, or else another task that would give him the chance to further observe the lay of the town while at the same time ingratiating himself to the people living within its walls.

 

As it turned out, however, Ezio ended up finding one of his uncle’s mercenaries; one who had been looking for him, in fact.


	185. Bernardo Baroncelli

“Ezio! About time you got here,” the man said, grinning in a way that took the sting out of his words. “We’ve found Bernardo Baroncelli.”

 

“That _is_ good news,” he said, grinning at the man standing before him. “Tell me where he is, and I’ll see that he’s dealt with.”

 

“That’s the trouble,” the man said, grin slowly melting into a troubled expression. “Lorenzo actually had him arrested days ago, after being returned to us from Constantinople, but he escaped. We believe him to be somewhere inside San Gimignano.”

 

“ _Va bene_ ,” he said, nodding to the man who’d been such a good help to him. “I’ll see if I can’t pin him down.”

 

Turning to leave, after having properly thanked Uncle Mario’s man for the help he’d been given, Ezio found himself stopped short by the man’s question.

 

“How do you expect to succeed where the rest of us have failed?” he asked, his tone sounding as though it was half honest curiosity and half utter disbelief that had prompted him to speak.

 

“I have my ways,” he said, not wishing to become embroiled in a long discussion, and thereby risk giving Baroncelli the time he might very well need to escape.

 

Turning away from the man who’d given him such a great deal of help, Ezio narrowed his eyes and saw the familiar wash of darkened colors as his second-sight overtook his normal vision. Making his way back up to the rooftops, Ezio smiled as he glimpsed a familiar group of blue-shaded forms making their way toward the safehouse that Uncle Mario’s mercenaries had set up for them once he and little Maria had returned to San Gimignano on their request. Smile lingering on his face as he continued on, Ezio regained the rooftops and began making his way back through the town.

 

Still, while it _was_ true that San Gimignano was much smaller than Firenze and would hence have fewer places for a rat such as Baroncelli to hide, Ezio knew that Baroncelli and whoever was sheltering him had to be aware of just those kinds of things as well. And so, it was with a certain sense of subdued resignation that Ezio began searching the town for any large gatherings of red-hued enemies; he knew that it was certain to take a goodly amount of time before he was able to determine just where it was that Baroncelli and his cohorts had managed to hide themselves from the mercenaries that Uncle Mario had sent into the town to find them.

 

However, when he crossed over what had seemed at first to be merely another in the long line of rooftops that he was going to have to cross on his way through the small town during the course of his search, Ezio caught the end of what seemed to be a one-sided conversation. Then, just as he was about to leave the man speaking to himself behind and resume his search of San Gimignano, Ezio heard the phrase “the assassin” among the hurried, harried chatter of the man who was clearly his latest quarry. Bernardo Baroncelli, it seemed, had not hidden himself nearly as well as a man in his position might have wished.

 

Dropping back to the ground, taking care to remain out of sight behind the massive form of the building whose roof he had leaped to, Ezio signaled to a group of Uncle Mario’s mercenaries to keep pace with him as he moved through the crowd. Unfortunately, it seemed that Baroncelli was either more observant than he’d seemed, or simply so paranoid that it hardly made a difference. Still, Ezio’s greater endurance and training in such told in the end – as he’d known it would – and he was able to drive Baroncelli to the ground, plunging his hidden blade into the man’s side to finish the job.

 

“I knew it would be you, in the end,” Baroncelli said, eyes beginning to dull in death, resignation, or both.

 

“Where is Jacopo?” he demanded of the man, while the pair of them still had time to speak to one another.

 

“Why? So you can do to him what you’ve done to me?” Baroncelli asked, his tone carrying far more curiosity than defiance at this late stage.

 

“We gather at the church when a meeting is called,” Baroncelli said, his voice fading alongside the light in his eyes.

 

“I’m sorry it had to come to this,” he said, kneeling for a long moment beside the Templar he’d just put to rest. “ _Requiescat in pace_.”

 

Standing quickly, knowing that the guards he’d been working so hard to evade during the course of his present and previous stays within the walls of San Gimignano would be all too swift to gather to the place where Bernardo Baroncelli had fallen, Ezio gave another signal to the pair of mercenaries that had followed him, and then made his way back up to the rooftops.


	186. Errand running

Sighing with relief as she saw the familiar form of her sole remaining brother appearing over the roofline just a single street from where she and Uncle Mario’s mercenaries had taken shelter when they’d moved inside the walls of San Gimignano, Maria stood up and waved to him when he seemed to turn in her direction. Knowing that he’d seen her by the way that Ezio raised his own right arm in brief greeting, Maria smiled as she made her way back into the safehouse that she’d shared with Uncle Mario’s mercenaries ever since she’d been all but bundled into the place at Ezio’s insistence. She didn’t hold it against him, of course; they’d all lost pieces of themselves.

 

At least, the ones who’d managed to _survive_ that damned day in the first place.

 

“I’m glad to see you waited so patiently for me, _sorellina_ ,” Ezio said, as the pair of them embraced, sharing a formal kiss as they separated.

 

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say _patiently_ ,” she said, giving her last brother a slyly annoyed look. “But, tell me how things went, _fratello_. I’d just managed to find out that you were going out again, before I saw you coming back.”

 

Ezio sighed, flopping almost bonelessly down into the chair that sat opposite her at the small table she’d settled down at once she’d managed to make her way to the common eating area that this particular safehouse maintained; she still wondered if it was something that all of these kinds of places had, or if this one was a particular case. Still, Maria wasn’t really all _that_ eager to spend more time than she had to in places like this. Even if it _was_ to find out something that might have been interesting.

 

The pair of them shared a hearty meal of meat, cheese, bread, and wine, before separating to spend what Maria could only hope would be a last night away from the comforts of Monteriggioni.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

The next morning, once he and little Maria had gotten what sleep they needed after spending so much time at their respective tasks the proceeding day, Ezio met up with his littlest sister and the pair of them began making their way out of San Gimignano at last. The pair of them had completely agreed that they would be best served, as well as much happier, if they returned to Monteriggioni to tell Uncle Mario about what they’d managed to learn after he’d dealt with Baroncelli.

 

If nothing else, their uncle would want to have _some_ kind of update on their current situation.

 

Making their way out of the town, blending seamlessly with a group of what seemed to be either merchants or farmers making their way outside the walls, he and little Maria broke off from the group amid embraces and offers of thanks for the tasks they’d undertaken at the request of the people all around them. Smiling as the people all wished them well on their way, not a one of them flinching or hesitating to meet little Maria’s eyes when she faced them to speak, Ezio felt better than he had in quite some time.

 

He knew that it wasn’t entirely likely to last, what with the fact that he still had to confront Jacopo de’ Pazzi – and even beyond that, there was still the matter of the Templars as a whole to address – to kill him, and then after that to determine just how many of Italia’s own Templars had been directly involved in the plot against the Auditore family. Those he would deal with as quickly as he could; the others, while clearly dangerous to the world as a whole, were of necessity a less immediate concern.

 

Once he and little Maria had made it out of sight of anyone who might have been standing atop San Gimignano’s walls, the pair of them met up with the remaining mercenaries that Uncle Mario had sent out alongside them, and together they all piled into the four carriages that had been sent out to meet with them at their uncle’s orders. Allowing himself to relax, as he felt the steady swaying of the carriage underscored by the beating of the hooves of the horses outside and the murmurs of conversation from the men inside, Ezio pulled little Maria close so that the pair of them could cuddle up close while they rode back home.

 

Sometimes he found himself joining in with one conversation or another, at times even recounting what he’d been about while inside the town or telling those who hadn’t had the chance to see him in action of his exploits against the Templars, but for the most part the men around him seemed content to allow him and little Maria to get what rest they could during the course of their return journey; Ezio was glad for it.


	187. Return to Tuscany

When they all finally arrived before the high walls of Monteriggioni once again, Ezio found himself grinning widely amidst the laughter and cheers of the mercenaries all around him. Yes, there was still much that he would have to do – there was still the meeting between Jacopo de’ Pazzi and his fellow Templars that Ezio planned to interrupt in a rather final way – but seeing the place that had been given to the remains of the Auditore family as a second home always seemed to do his heart good. It was good, knowing that he, Mother, little Maria, and Claudia still had a place where they were welcomed, after all that had happened.

 

It was good, knowing what the work he was doing in the world outside these high, stone walls was ultimately serving to protect.

 

“It’s good to see that you’re both doing so well, _nipoti_ ,” Uncle Mario said, grinning as he held out his arms to the pair of them.

 

“ _Grazie_ for welcoming us so warmly, Uncle,” little Maria said, smiling brightly as she hugged their uncle and leaned against him for a moment.

 

“It’s always been my pleasure, my _piccola principessa_ ,” Uncle Mario said, with a wide grin and a soft chuckle. “But, tell me of the work you’ve been doing, _nipote_ ,” their uncle said, turning so that he could proceed the pair of them into the villa once again.

 

As Ezio began telling the older man just what it was that he and little Maria had been doing during their prolonged absence from Monteriggioni and their remaining family, he also listened with rapt attention to Uncle Mario’s own recounting of what had been happening within the villa and the small town that it presided over; it seemed, at the very least, that Mother’s health had continued to improve steadily.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

After lunch, Maria quickly found herself being whisked off by Claudia, seemingly so that her older sister could have someone to complain to about being all but forced to look after the finances of Monteriggioni while the three of them had been given leave to stay. It was kind of a funny thing, but Maria did her best not to laugh after seeing how honestly annoyed and frustrated Claudia seemed about the entire thing. She didn’t want her sister to think that Maria wouldn’t take her concerns seriously, even with as honestly silly as she found her sister’s present complaints.

 

It wasn’t as though she herself hadn’t had any complaints that would have sounded silly to someone else, no matter how valid they’d felt when she spoke about them.


	188. Mario il Mentore

Once he’d finished filling Uncle Mario in on just what it was that he, little Maria, and the mercenary company that had been lent to him had managed to accomplish during the time that they had been out and about the town of San Gimignano – their discussion of his work in Firenze was both cursory and over quickly, to his mild surprise – the pair of them had moved on to discussing just where it was that the Templars meant to have their meeting.

 

“So, Bagnone mentioned the Roman gods, and Baroncelli spoke of a church where he and his fellow Templars would meet,” Uncle Mario said, pacing before the bookshelves to the right of his desk in a clear attempt to chase down some errant thought or other. “Did you manage to find anything that might tell us exactly where it is that they will be meeting? Or when they will meet next?”

 

“There was something in a letter I read,” he said, it having become something like second nature to him, searching the bodies of his fallen enemies for documents that would tell him just what it was that his enemies were planning next.

 

Or else, for the pages of the Codex that the Templars had managed to find by some means or other.

 

Digging through the satchel that he made it a point to carry with him once it had become clear that he would need a way of transporting the documents that the Templars he killed always seemed to be carrying, Ezio quickly produced the letter, and the pair of them began to go over it together. Ezio also reminded himself to make a return journey to Leonardo’s workshop in Firenze, so that the inventor could look over the new pages of the Codex that he had recovered during the course of his work.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

The pair of them had spent a night with Uncle Mario, with her brother working beside him to figure out just where it was that their next target was going to be, and Maria herself taking the chance to spend what time she could with Claudia, as well as composing a letter to send to Mother so that the woman wouldn’t worry about her while she was away. They’d left just after dawn, the pair of them making for San Gimignano once again. Apparently, not only was the church the Templars were planning to gather together with each other somewhere inside the city, but the old Roman temple that they were planning to conduct their actual _meeting_ at was somewhere in the fields to the south-west of the town itself.


	189. Mercenary pursuits

Maria couldn’t _truly_ say she’d been anticipating this, but it _would_ be nice to have the task over and done with; it would be nice to get some real rest, before they had to go haring off on the trail of yet another Templar.

 

_~AC: II~_

 

When he and little Maria had returned to San Gimignano once again, this time with a far better understanding of just where it was that they would need to go, in order to be able to intercept the Templars and follow them to their meeting, Ezio guided little Maria into the town. The pair of them carefully blended into the crowds in order to better evade any watchers that might have had their eyes on them, and then quickly found a deserted alley where they could both head back up to the rooftops once more. Both he and little Maria had long since agreed that taking their present rout above the streets made whatever errands they found themselves engaged in a great deal easier to see to.

 

It was also one more way to maintain at least _some_ kind of connection to Father and their lost brothers; Federico in particular, since he’d been the one to teach both of them to climb and run and jump like this. It was nearly the same reason that Ezio continued to collect the larger and more beautiful feathers that he happened across during the course of his work, both inside and outside the high walls of Monteriggioni: it helped him to maintain at least _some_ connection to Petruccio, as well. The new life he led – that _they_ led, he reflected, looking fondly down at little Maria as the pair of them continued on their way – served to maintain their connection to Father and the ideals that he’d held so dear.

 

Gently embracing his littlest sister as the pair of them alighted on a rooftop together, Ezio smiled as little Maria returned his affection with equal enthusiasm; as good as it was to know where he stood and what he fought for, it was all the better to have someone standing beside him.


	190. Chasing conspirators

Once the pair of them had managed to find the church indicated in the note that Jacopo de’ Pazzi had sent to his fellow conspirators, all that remained was for them to watch and wait for the man and his fellow Templars to appear. Dusk had fallen by the time those _bastardi_ had deigned to show themselves, but there was at least enough light for the pair of them to see by, even without calling up the second-sight that both he and little Maria seemed to possess. Turning to his littlest sister, the pair of them nodded to each other, and then quickly set about following the small group of Templars to their meeting place.

 

Careful as they were to stay high and out of sight amid the rooftops, that kind of thing became a great deal more difficult as the Templars they were following drew closer and ever closer to the walls of San Gimignano. There were fewer buildings for them to leap to, fewer rooftops for them to shelter behind, and eventually they would be forced to descend back to the ground and follow the man and his entourage from there. Still, while he and little Maria remained out of sight of Jacopo de’ Pazzi and whatever guards he might have employed, Ezio would be grateful for it.

 

When the time came for them to abandon the high-ground and instead rely on the shadows of the swiftly-falling night and the inattention of the guards traveling alongside Jacopo as he continued on his way, Ezio leaped lightly down from the wall and paused for a moment to let little Maria catch up to him. Moving quickly and quietly, and careful to keep out of sight in case any of Jacopo de’ Pazzi’s guardsmen or fellow Templars chanced to look back the way they came.

 

Considering the paranoia of the men they were following, Ezio knew that such a thing was near-certain to happen.


End file.
